


Soul Silenced

by Dawnfire8



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Crossover, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 72,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnfire8/pseuds/Dawnfire8
Summary: Bran only ever sought to defend his pack. Not just the wolves in Aspen Creek, but also those all throughout North America. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned and he finds himself waking up in a strange new world. Now stuck in wolf form and unable to speak, he will have to team up with his new companion to get back home.
Relationships: Bran Cornick/Original Female Character, minor Bran Cornick/Leah Cornick
Comments: 31
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! New story! Next chapter should be posted by the end of the day tomorrow.

CHAPTER 1

Bran paced before the fireplace. He rarely used the fireplace in his office. Being a werewolf meant that he normally didn’t get cold, even as far north as Montana. If he did light the fireplace, it wasn’t because he was cold. It was because there was trouble in the air and he needed something to focus on. Lately, his fireplace had been lit more often than not.

For many years, Aspen Creek had served as a safe haven for the werewolves of North America. The tiny town tucked away in the mountains of Montana gave troubled werewolves a secluded place to work out their issues. Even wolves fleeing from abusive or neglectful alphas in Europe could find safety in the small Montana settlement.

Bran worked hard to maintain the peace in Aspen Creek. He aided wolves that could be saved, and put down the ones that were too dangerous to be left on their own. It wasn’t just dangerous werewolves he had dealt with. Throughout history, he had engaged a variety of magical and non-magical creatures that also posed a threat to the survival of North America’s werewolves. Recently, however, Aspen Creek had faced a threat Bran wasn’t sure he was prepared to face.

_Witches_.

The mere thought of the word made his stomach clench with unease. Twice in the last few years, Aspen Creek had been the target of witch attacks. Twice Bran had nearly failed to protect his pack from the witches’ intrusion. He could still remember the feeling as that one particular witch’s magic had gripped him and chained him to her will.

The intrusive thoughts made his wolf thrashed inside of his mind. And that brought Bran to his second problem. Lately, his wolf had been more volatile than usual. Not even his mate’s touch had been enough to calm the beast. Bran wanted to blame it on the encounter with the skinwalker, or perhaps on Mercy’s kidnapping. But he feared that his wolf’s volatility was the result of age more than anything. Maybe his time was coming.

He banished the thought from his mind immediately and threw another log on the fire. No. He would not worry about such matters at a time like this. Something needed to be done about the witches before they attacked again. He had already granted one of his wolves, Wellesley, permission to go witch hunting in Tennessee, but even Bran knew that wouldn’t be enough to stop the Hardesty witches. It would take a large operation to root out and destroy such a large and powerful witch family. Especially one that had practically developed underneath his nose without him even realizing it.

His keen ears picked up the sound of the front door opening and closing. The footsteps were light but brisk which belied the anger spilling out of the person approaching his office. Bran pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

Leah, his mate, burst into his room in a flurry of barely suppressed rage. As usual, she did not bother to knock. Today, she wore a thick fur coat and short jeans that would have looked unusual when paired together if they weren’t being worn by a woman who looked no older than thirty. Her face was twisted into its trademark scowl.

“This has to stop,” Leah demanded. “I will not put up with it for any longer.”

“It would help if I knew what ‘this’ referred to,” Bran grumbled in response. He sat down at his desk while Leah continued her tirade.

“That omega is out of control,” Leah fumed. “I rank second in this pack, yet she still stomps all over my orders. She must obey me. She is submissive to me.”

“Technically, omegas are outside the pack hierarchy. They don’t obey anyone.”

Leah glared at him. Bran stared back unfazed.

Only a few months ago, Bran and Leah’s relationship had been very different. The change was mostly Bran’s fault. Based on what little evidence Bran had gathered, he had reached the conclusion that Leah planned to betray the pack. Not only did he discover that his assumptions were wrong, he had also realized that her intentions were quite the opposite of what he had expected. Despite her flaws, Leah cared about the pack and protected it to the best of her abilities.

Since that discovery, the dynamics of their relationship had become...complicated to say the least. Bran treated Leah’s concerns with more understanding rather than ignoring her outright like he used to. Leah, on the other hand, tended to be more soft and caring towards him when they were alone. It unsettled him to see the normally crass, selfish woman hug him and whisper in his ear. It wasn’t love, but it was better than what they had before.

Bran took a deep breath and tried again. “I will talk to Anna. But understand that she is as driven to obey me as she is you. I can’t guarantee that she won’t ignore my orders and do as she pleases anyway.”

Leah studied him for several seconds. Bran was sure she was going to say something nasty. But to his surprise, she simply frowned and nodded before retreating out of the study. Bran’s eyes rested on the closed door. He wondered what had just happened before he returned to his brooding.

Bran did not know what to do about the Hardesty witches to be honest. A century or two ago, he would not have hesitated to have them destroyed, the secrecy of the werewolves’ existence helping to cover up the entire conflict. However, now that the humans knew about the werewolves and suspected that they were more organized and existed in greater numbers than they appeared, it would be virtually impossible to destroy the witches in one large assault. Dealing with the witch clan would instead require careful planning and subtle movement of wolves, perhaps even the bribery of a few politicians to keep things quiet.

His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing in the kitchen. Leah answered it since she was already in the kitchen, baking cookies if Bran’s nose was correct. The voice on the other end of the line was quiet, but Bran’s supernatural hearing was still able to catch their words.

“We need help. We’re under attack. We don’t know by who.”

Bran recognized the voice. Connor was a former lone wolf who came to Bran’s pack after losing control of his wolf and nearly killing his wife. Bran originally attributed the loss of control to Connor being young for a werewolf. However, it was later discovered that his wife had been having a secret affair with one of his friends, a realization that Connor’s wolf had made before the human half. For now, Connor stayed in Aspen Creek until he felt stable enough to go back out on his own again. At the moment, Connor was supposed to be teaching some of the new wolves how to hunt. If they were under attack, that meant that someone had entered their territory to attack their wolves once more.

Leah shared a look with Bran as he exited his office. Bran nodded in response. They had a pack to save.

* * *

Bran and his mate raced side-by-side through the woods in wolf form. The scent of the wolves grew stronger and stronger with each step. They had lived in this part of Montana for many decades. Each tree, each rock was etched into their minds and made it easier to traverse the hilly terrain. Based on the path the wolves had taken, Bran surmised that they had stuck to the pack’s most familiar hunting route. It would make tracking them down a lot easier.

Bran and Leah still did not know what threat they were going to face when they found the missing wolves. Bran hoped that it was just a few rogue wolves, but he knew better than to let himself fall for the woo of false hope. Every instinct in his body told him that it was witches. It made sense that the witches would launch a second attack after the first one failed. They had not only failed to locate their initial target. They had also failed to gather information on the artifact they had been seeking.

Still, he did not understand why they chose to attack Aspen Creek now that their previous target, Wellesley, had left the small town. Furthermore, the spy that they had used to monitor the activities inside of the pack had been killed before their first attack could succeed. It didn’t make sense that they would launch a direct attack on his wolves when there was nothing they could gain from such an attack. Bran grit his teeth. It looked like he would have to wait until they confronted their enemy to find out what their intentions were.

The trail they were following came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a clearing. Bran’s eyes scanned the clearing. There was no sign of the missing wolves, but Bran was certain that the scent trail led through here. Leah sniffed at the ground and looked at him in confusion. She had clearly reached the same conclusion as him. The wolves should have been here. Bran used the pack bonds to send a mental message to the missing wolves, but no response came.

Worry ate at Bran’s heart.

Tentatively, Bran tiptoed into the clearing, keeping his eyes peeled and his ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger. Leah gave him another cautious look then followed him into the open. The clearing gave nothing away. The ground appeared undisturbed by any pawprints or signs of a scuffle. There were no unusual odors hanging about in the open space. It was as if no one had passed through here recently. It wasn’t until the two wolves were in the center of the clearing that the fur on Bran’s back stood on end.

Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure what it was that had set off both him and his wolf, but he knew that the two of them were in danger.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, reality turned in on itself. The pristine forest floor twisted and writhed like an angry snake shedding its old skin. Bran’s vision swam as the forest before him evaporated and revealed a scene that had been hidden from his eyes.

The first thing that Bran noticed was the smell of blood. Blood coated every inch of the clearing. The ground, the grass, even the trees were covered in blood. Then the impact of his packmates’ pain and suffering hit him like a sledgehammer. The wolves lay crumpled on the ground arranged in a circle at the edges of the clearing. One wolf was lying mere feet from where Bran and Leah had entered the clearing. At first, there were no signs of life from the fallen wolves. But then Bran caught the ragged rise and fall of their chests. Before relief could wash over him, however, his eyes fell on two figures that stood at the center of clearing.

The first figure was that of a human woman. She wore a dark dress that was modest enough that it would be comfortable even out in the wilderness. She had long, brown hair and a slim figure. Her warm smile would have fooled a werewolf into a sense of security if it wasn’t for the reek of black magic exuding from her body.

The second figure was some kind of abomination. She had the wrinkled face of an old woman, but that was the only human aspect of her. Her dark hair hung from her head limply like a wet dishrag. Her clothing was both minimalist and ornate. She wore a dress woven from old leather and dark feathers, exposing her gaunt figure and disproportionately long limbs. Rings and bangles dangled from her wrists and chimed with each spastic movement of her arms. Both her feet and hands ended in long, curved talons that complemented the black feathers sprouting irregularly from various parts of her body.

As soon as Bran noticed the second witch, he couldn’t look away from her. The blackest magic that he had ever encountered writhed around this creature like a chained guard dog, lashing out at him with an unnatural hunger. Everything about this monster screamed ugly and dangerous and Bran wanted nothing more than for this abomination to die.

“Is this the one?” The creature rasped in a hideous voice.

“Uh-huh. I present to you Bran Cornick, leader of the North American werewolves.” The black witch spoke in a southern drawl. A Hardesty witch.

Bran snarled at them, but the creature simply laughed and raised its hands.

“Excellent. Let the ritual begin.”

The creature made a motion with its talons and the ensnared wolves suddenly began writhing and shrieking in pain. The creature was using their pain to feed its power, Bran realized. However, before Bran could take another step to stop it, the ground began to shimmer beneath his paws. Runes etched into the ground shown through the snow like glittering lights. The runes encircled the entire clearing with Bran and Leah standing at the center. In an instant, the ground vanished beneath him and he was sent hurtling into blackness.

Bran fought against the darkness. It wrapped around him as the forest vanished before his eyes and left him falling into a void. A bitter, magical coldness sank into his bones. The air was sucked from his lungs. He thrashed and spun through empty space for what felt like an eternity. Then, in a single nauseating instant, he collapsed onto a hard rock floor.

He couldn’t move, the effects of the spell paralyzing his body. Leah lay in a heap beside him, likely in the same condition. His muscles were frozen, but thankfully his eyes still worked.

They were inside a large, auditorium-like room. The room was filled with old chairs and tables that surrounded the open area where Bran and Leah lay. The remains of dead animals lay spread out on some of the tables, cut and dissected into tiny pieces. A large orb made out of a gold and green metal hummed overhead. Bran’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. He became aware of several dark figures standing around them with their arms crossed as if in prayer. They all reeked of black magic.

“Bran Cornick,” said one of the figures. “Welcome to our humble abode. Sorry for the abrupt entrance, but we were tight on time. I’m sure you will enjoy your stay with us.” The figure gestured at one of the other witches. “Chain them.”

The witch picked up a pair of silver shackles and made her way towards Bran. Panic settled over Bran as he fought to reawaken his nerves so that he could defend himself. His panic disturbed his wolf who rushed to the forefront of his mind with a biting fury. Pack magic poured into his muscles and shook off the coldness that locked them in place. As the witch bent down and reached forward to snap the shackles on his neck, Bran’s head whipped around and closed on the woman’s face with a crunch. The witch screamed and stumbled back, dropping the chains in the process.

The other witches immediately reacted. Some readied spells while others attempted to pick up the abandoned silver chains. In response, Bran lifted his head and let out a terrifying roar that left most of the witches scrambling for safety. The more experienced witches stood their ground as Bran lifted his mate off the ground and charged through gathered witches. He spotted a corridor leading out of the auditorium and made a beeline for it. The sound of several sets of footsteps soon followed.

Bran looked left and right as he ran through the corridor looking for a way out of the strange building, but could not find an exit. Every room he passed either led to a dead-end, or another group of witches. In a final act of desperation, he raced all the way to the end of the corridor and burst through the last set of doors.

In this room, Bran was met by a large room that was otherwise empty except for a purple swirling hole against one wall. He looked around, but could not find any other way out. He had run himself into a dead-end.

A fireball whizzed past his head and sent him ducking behind some makeshift cover. Witches began to swarm the room, some armed with simple weapons but most of them with magic swirling around their clenched hands.

Bran grimaced. It looked like he would have to fight his way out. He lowered Leah’s still limp form to the ground and lunged at the nearest witch, sinking his teeth into her arm. Then he threw himself at the next witch, biting her shoulder. Despite his strength and experience, he was quickly finding himself overwhelmed by the coven of witches.

It was then that Bran made a simple mistake. A mistake that would not have cost him so gravely in any other situation. In the haze of the fight, he had taken his eyes off of one of the more powerful witches in the attacking group. In the time it took him to refocus his attention, the witch had prepared a powerful death spell and flung it in his direction. Bran did not have enough time to brace himself before the spell hit. But right as the spell grazed the tip of his nose, a brown shape flung itself in front of him and took the brunt of the attack.

_GO!_

Bran felt the after effects of the magical attack rush through his mate bond and settle over his mind with its cool touch. For an instant, he was frozen in time, unable to respond to what he had just experienced. Then time restarted itself and he barely ducked in time as another magical attack shot over his head.

The witches continued to pour in, adding to the barrage of attacks aimed at Bran. In a few more moments, they would overwhelm him. He looked behind him at the strange swirling portal. He didn’t know what it was or what would be in store for whoever touched it, but he had no other choice. In a final act of desperation, Bran threw himself straight at the eerie purple mass.

Bile rushed up his throat as magic swallowed him whole. Screams rushed past his ears as he was tossed and tumbled through a cloud of magic that assaulted his senses. The magic sucked the strength from his body and clouded his mind. He fought to stay awake but, in the end, lost the battle against unconsciousness.

* * *

It was cold. Tall shadows stretched around him and swayed like trees. The cacophony of rain hid the sound of everything else.

_Have to get away._

He forced himself up and dragged himself through the woods. His head ached. The wounds on his body ached. Everything felt wrong and he could not right himself.

A light in the distance. Aspen Creek? He used up every ounce of strength remaining in his body to make his way towards the light.

Almost there. So close. Can’t keep going.

His vision went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is ready to go!

CHAPTER 2

Bran opened his eyes groggily.

His head ached and his mouth felt dry. Vaguely, he recalled running through a forest. But the trees and rain had disappeared only to be replaced with a new, unfamiliar scenery. He was in a small room. A cabin, he believed, based on the wooden walls. The furniture, like the walls, were also wooden. Aspen, his nose told him. Or perhaps oak. A set of drawers laid to his right, and on his left sat several short vases. The room appeared to have been cleaned recently, though cobwebs and bits of dust were wedged into the corners. The mat he laid upon was woven from simple cloth and animal skins.

The strange sights and odors jolted Bran into alertness. He attempted to stand but his body refused to obey him. His back burned as if he had rolled across a pile of hot coals and his shoulder throbbed. Odd. His wounds should have healed by now. In fact, he felt even worse than he did the last time he was conscious.

Shifting between forms helped to speed healing. Somehow, the switch between wolf and human forms caused smaller wounds to close up and aches to fade away. One shift should be enough to get him back on his feet.

Bran attempted to shift out of his wolf form. One moment. Two moments. Three moments. Nothing had changed. Not even the familiar tingling sensation that started the Change filled his body. That was abnormal. He hadn’t had this much difficulty changing since….

Panic surged through his chest. In desperation, he reached out to his wolf and found...nothing. He searched for his pack bonds and again found nothing. The familiar presence of the wolf and the pack, everything that had made him werewolf save his wolf form, had vanished without him even noticing.

This was impossible. He had thought he had escaped the witches, but instead they had further ensnared him. Somehow, they had suppressed his pack magic to a mere drip when before it had flowed through him like a waterfall. They hadn’t yet shackled him with their witchcraft, but he did not intend to wait for them to do so. Not while he could still escape.

His growing terror was interrupted by a creaking sound just outside his room. Footsteps tracked from somewhere above his head and made their way towards the door to his room. Bran grit his teeth and steeled himself to fight as the door eased open.

A feminine face peeked out from behind the door. The woman was pale-skinned with long blond hair and a scarred face. Gray eyes glanced down at him and her lips peeled back to reveal a pleased smile.

“‘Bout time you woke up. I was going to grab a bucket of cold water if you weren’t up in the next hour.”

The woman stepped into the room, causing the fur along Bran’s back to bristle.

“I brought something for you to eat since you must be hungry.” The woman reached behind her back.

Bran lunged forward, snapping his jaws at her leg. Unfortunately, his leg gave out before he could reach her and he landed nose-first inches before her boot. The woman jumped back in surprise, bumping her elbow into the door in the process.

“Yowch! Someone is in a nasty mood today.”

Bran eyed the woman cooly. This woman. This _witch_ had snatched him away from his pack and bound his wolf much like others of her kind had attempted to. So be it, Bran thought darkly. She will perish just like the others.

The woman eyed him warily, still reeking of magic. Instead of reaching for him like he had expected, she took several steps back and threw several pieces of jerky at him. Then she turned away and marched back out the door without another word.

Rage coursed through Bran as his prey escaped. She had gotten away this time, but she wouldn’t be so lucky the next time she tried to ensnare him with one of her tricks. He eyed the jerky suspiciously. He did not trust the woman to not offer him poisoned food. However, this meat neither reeked of magic nor poison. His stomach growled noisily. Besides, he needed to regain his strength before he would be able to stand again.

Bran carefully sampled a piece of the jerky. The meat was savory but tough. Tough enough that Bran had to put effort into tearing it into smaller pieces and swallowing. The flavor was not unpleasant, however not one that he recognized. Like pork, but with a fishy aftertaste. It reminded him of the seal meat he had once tried while visiting his northern packs, however seal was not usually this tough. Strange.

Once a couple minutes had gone by with no noticeable reaction to the food, Bran allowed himself to finish off the remaining jerky and rest for a few more moments before attempting to stand again. This time, though his muscles ached and his bones creaked, he was able to get all four legs underneath him and straight. He hesitantly took one step. Then two steps. Then three. He was able to take about twenty steps before he needed to rest.

He sat down and examined the wounds on his body. They had scabbed over, but were still not healing as quickly as they should have been. That thought concerned him greatly. But it would have to wait. He needed to get moving before the witch tried to do anything else to him.

Bran pushed his way through the door. He passed a shelf filled with herbs and other strange substances that he paid little heed to and crept his way up the stairs. He poked his head up over the top of the staircase, but still did not see the witch. He crept a little further then froze when he saw her mere feet away from the top of the stairs.

The woman was seated upon a king-sized bed covered in pelts and soft pillows. A book rested in her hands. She glanced at him passively and frowned.

“I know you’re still injured. That much I can tell. You should really get more rest.”

Bran glared at her, preparing to defend himself if she made any sudden moves.

The woman must have sensed his hostility because her frown deepened and she set aside the book. “You are one strange dog, and an unappreciative one at that.” She held up a finger. “First, I find you sprawled out on my doorstep during a thunderstorm. Then, after I was kind enough to give you a dry place to sleep, you try to bite a chunk out of my foot? I hope you don’t treat your owner that poorly.”

Bran stared at her blankly. A dog? She seriously thought he was a dog? Sure. He was small as far as werewolves go, but most people would still be able to tell that he is too big to be a common housepet. Just what kind of dogs was this woman used to?

He shook the thought away. Perhaps he had misjudged the woman. She did not appear to be a black witch. She didn’t smell of rot and decay like most black witches do. However, he had not mistaken the smell of magic on her. A white witch perhaps. They typically smelled cleaner, preferring to shoulder the burden of the sacrifice that powered their magic rather than feeding off of others’ pain. They tended to be weaker and less of a danger as a result. Nonetheless, he needed to seek out his pack so that he could undo the mess he had gotten himself into. A simple white witch, innocent or not, was of no concern to him.

He made his way towards the door on the other side of the bed. The woman hopped off the bed and headed towards the door too, causing Bran to snarl at her in surprise.

She held up her hands in surrender. “Relax. I just thought that if you were going to return home so soon, you may as well have someone to accompany you. The Rift isn’t as dangerous as other holds, but there are still the occasional troll or bear. You might need help.”

Troll? The Rift? What madness was this woman speaking of? Even without the agreement between the fae and the Columbia Basin Pack, most of the fae tried to keep their presence as hidden as possible. Outright attacks by the fae would mean war or being destroyed by the Gray Lords, the overseers of fae society. A troll would have to be completely idiotic to attack Bran.

The witch appeared young so Bran assumed that this fear was just her paranoia speaking. White witches were quite paranoid.

The woman sighed when Bran refused to budge. “Very well,” she relented. “Just don’t come whining to me when you end up getting your head chewed off.”

Bran almost snorted at the absurdity of the thought before pushing his way through the door.

The warm cabin interior immediately gave way to a vast lake. Blue and orange dragonflies darted past his head and hovered over the water as he gazed across the lapis blue waves. He made his way down to the lake’s edge and lapped up the crystal clear water, the liquid refreshing his dry mouth. Then he considered where he would go next.

He did not recognize any of his surroundings, which was both good and bad. Good because it meant that he was far away from his pursuers. Bad because it meant that he had a long way to travel before finding Aspen Creek. On a normal day, he could have used his pack bonds as a GPS and walked to the nearest pack. Since that was now out of the question, it looked like he would have to find his way back the old-fashioned way.

He trotted down the wooden walkway leading away from the elevated cabin and followed the lake’s edge. As he walked, he looked for any familiar landmarks, but instead found more strange sights. Wooden boats drifted across the lake while laborers tossed nets into the water and pulled up fish. One of the laborers appeared… reptilian? It was green and had a long crocodilian tail. Bran shook his head furiously to clear the illusion.

He was halfway around the lake when he picked up the sound of nearby voices. He darted into the undergrowth and watched carefully as the source of the sound approached. Metal armor clanked softly as a group of soldiers marched by. The soldiers were armed with swords and carried shields depicting two crossing swords. The party marched past Bran’s hiding spot without so much as a glance in his direction.

_Strange_ , Bran thought. It had been a long time since he had seen men carry such weapons. He knew that they were not simple props as they not only looked authentic, but the men carried them as if they had trained with the weapons numerous times. It was as if the portal Bran had jumped through had dropped him into the past. He shivered with worry. If he had gone back in time as far as he believed, that meant that Aspen Creek did not yet exist. That meant that the packs that he had built up in North America did not exist either.

As soon as the soldiers were out of sight, Bran quickened his pace down the path. The white-barked trees seemed to grow in size and number the further he traveled. The forest was peaceful and the sky was clear this time around, a stark contrast to the night before. Bees buzzed from flower to flower collecting nectar and pollen for their hives. Deer snorted when they spotted him and pranced off into the distance. Here and there he detected the faint odor of a bear. The only thing that had seemed out-of-place to him was a horrible odor that permeated parts of the forest. He wasn’t sure what it was coming from, but he chose to avoid it out of caution. He had traveled into the forest for at least thirty minutes before stumbling across a strange sight.

A deer carcass sat in-between two trees. Bran sniffed the air nervously before edging out of the bushes and inspecting the deer carcass. The skin had been peeled back to expose the meat, but the meat itself was intact. The bones, however, were covered in scrape marks as if the deer had been attacked with swords before its death. This deer did not die of natural causes. A hunter would have killed the deer then collected the meat and pelt. A poacher would have at least kept the antlers. A wild animal would have partially eaten the carcass. Furthermore, the carcass still smelled fresh, as if it had just been killed and left here.

A twig snapped behind Bran and, before he could react, an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder. A hot searing pain filled his shoulder and he collapsed on the ground, unable to stand. The pain quickly spread from his shoulder and engulfed the rest of his body. Silver, his nose told him. Nice to know that that still hurt.

Loud hoots and howls came from the trees in the direction where the arrow had originated. Four men stomped out of the trees and approached him carrying a large cage. The men wore crude armor made from fur and torn leather. Some wore warpaint, but what concerned Bran the most was the weapons that they carried. Silver weapons rested on their waists.

The archer, the one who had fired the arrow, had a triumphant grin on his face. “Got another one of the beasts,” he sneered at Bran. “Chief is going to be so pleased when he sees it.”

“Nonsense,” the other thug snorted. “This one’s tiny. The others were much larger than this one.”

“Still,” the third thug said as he placed the cage beside Bran. “His fur will make a nice pelt.”

Bran growled at them weakly, the silver arrow sapping away his strength. The growl earned him a hard kick to the muzzle.

“Quiet, you! Better start counting your days while you still have the chance.” The fourth thug turned to the others. “Still got that muzzle? This one seems a bit feisty. I don’t want to take any chances with that thing biting me.” Cold metal wrapped around Bran’s head and caused his skin to ache wherever it touched him. “Much better. Load it into the cage.”

Bran fought helplessly as hands gripped his legs and dragged him into the cage. Either the arrow had also been poisoned, or the silver was stronger than he had expected. A werewolf should have been able to overpower the four men. In either case, he knew his fate was sealed when the lock on the cage door clicked shut and the cage began to move.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is out!

Four days. Four days had passed since he was captured. Four days since he had last seen the sun. In that time, he had been beaten, starved, and poisoned with more silver by his captors. They had brought him to a cave not far from where he had been captured. It’s small entrance was well hidden and gave way to a large, open cavern. The inside of the cavern was lined with row after row of prison cells, several of which held other werewolves in various stages of mental decay. 

At least, that is what these thugs -- the Silver Hand as they liked to call themselves -- had called the wolf-like creatures. The truth was, they looked nothing like Bran. These werewolves reminded him of the inbetween stage that took place as a human underwent the Change to become a werewolf. These werewolves were large, hulking creatures. Taller than any human and armed with sharp teeth and claws. Some stood upright almost like a human. But most of them were hunched over, as if their legs were not quite built for standing, or crouched on all fours. If it weren’t for their odd humanoid arms and legs unnaturally attached to a wolf’s torso, Bran wouldn’t have guessed that there was anything human about them. 

The Silver Hand kept all the werewolves and wolves they captured locked up in cages. Once in a while, they would take one of the werewolves into the back of the cave. The werewolves never returned. Some of the wolves were sold or used in some type of blood sport similar to dogfighting. The smaller, rattier ones were brought to the back of the cave along with the werewolves. They didn’t come back either. 

Every day, the Silver Hand would rotate who was on guard duty. Today, a one-eyed bandit paced up and down each row and kept an eye on the SIlver Hand’s prisoners. The dirty man paused as he passed by Bran’s cell. He stared at Bran’s glaring face and gaunt form and spat at him, laughing as Bran attempted a growl that ended in a harsh cough. 

“Won’t be long now,” taunted the guard, his breath reeking of stale alcohol. “Chief has been asking for a new toy to play with and he’s taken an interest in you, little scrap you are. Maybe he will make you into a pair of boots. Or maybe he will leave you in here and keep feeding you silver until you end up like your buddy there.” He tilted his head towards the cell across from Bran’s.

The wolf in question faced the guard, but otherwise seemed unaware of its surroundings. Its body swayed left then right, its yellow eyes dull and vacant. Its dark fur was patchy and thick saliva dripped from its mouth as it stared into space. 

Bran shivered. Everything about the werewolf set him on high alert. Its behavior told him that no one was home inside its head. When Bran had first arrived, the other werewolf still had the sentience to show fear and cower when the guards passed by. Now, it just swayed side to side, its mind empty. 

If Bran’s wolf was still present in his mind, it would have been driven mad at the sight of the tortured wolf. Dominant wolves felt driven to protect the weaker wolves around them. Yet, despite four days having elapsed, there was no change in his wolf’s absence. Bran was both relieved and tormented. The lack of the wolf’s constant angry presence kept his mind clear and made controlling himself easier. However, without the wolf, he lacked the strength to defend himself against the Silver Hand. At this rate, the Silver Hand were going to kill him.

Still, if he was going to die, he would make things as difficult for his captors as possible. While Bran was still caught in his thoughts, the guard had leaned closer to the cell door to spit on him again. Seizing the opportunity, Bran lunged forward and sank his teeth into the guard’s nose. The guard screamed in surprise and leapt backwards, tearing off a piece of his nose in the process. 

The guard snarled at Bran as he clutched his bleeding nose. “You little bitch! Fuck the chief’s orders. I’ll teach you to mess with me.” He reached for his axe and raised it over Bran’s head.

Two unexpected things happened in the following moment. The first was that Bran’s head had somehow avoided being divorced from his neck. The second strange thing was that an arrow had buried itself into the guard’s skull with a crack. The guard’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed into a heap on the ground, the axe tumbling out of his limp hand. 

Bran stared in shock at the fallen guard. He’d been certain that his life was about to end. He was weakened, trapped in a cell and had no means of dodging the guard’s attack. Yet it appeared luck was on his side for once. He watched as a shadow silently glided towards the fallen guard. A hand dipped into the guard’s pocket and removed a set of keys and couple coins. 

“Only six septims,” the voice grumbled. “And here I thought they were thieves not beggars.” The hooded face swiveled towards Bran. “Fancy running into you again. Nice to see that you are still at least half alive.”

Bran’s eyes widened in astonishment. Of all outcomes he had considered in the last four days, the witch being his savior was the last he would have expected. He was so astonished by her reappearance that he did not react until she unlocked the door to his cell and yanked the metal door open. 

“Man, you look like shit. I know that the Silver Hand are sometimes fond of keeping pets, but I expected better than this. Let me help.” The woman pulled out a red glass bottle out of her pocket and reached towards Bran.

Memories of hands tainted with black magic grabbing at him flashed through his mind. Bran shrank away from her with a loud snarl. He bared his teeth at her in warning of what would come if she tried to grab him again. 

The woman looked indignant. “This again? You know what? Fine. I’ll just leave this here and deal with the rest of the Silver Hand. If you’re smart, you will drink it so that you can heal faster. I have better things to do than to fight with you over this.” She placed the red bottle on the ground and melted back into the shadows. 

The smoothness of her disappearance was unnatural enough that he knew the woman must have been using magic. Not even werewolves could move that silently without magic. There were, however, witches capable of using magic to cloak themselves in shadows and hide in plain sight. Still, since Bran had already seen her and kept his eyes on her, she shouldn’t have been able to vanish that quickly. It was as if she had turned invisible. 

Bran waited carefully, using his ears and nose to check for the strange woman’s presence. Once Bran was sure the strange woman was gone, he eyed the red bottle suspiciously. 

A strange liquid sat inside of it. It had a mildly sweet odor overlaid with some variety of potent magic. He had to admit that it did not smell of witchcraft. However, he wasn’t sure if it was wise to drink something handed to him by a stranger. In fact, Bran knew that it wasn’t wise. There were plenty of stories, many of them true stories, about fae who ensorcelled unwary humans with magical drinks. Some of the stories had terrible outcomes. His tongue burned with buried rage at one particular memory that was close to heart. 

Despite his wariness, he acknowledged that this was the second time he had encountered the woman and she had not caused him harm. True, she may be attempting to lure him into a false sense of safety. But if her intention had been to exploit or bind him, she could have done so while he was lying unconscious in her cabin. 

She had told him that the drink would help him heal faster. What did that mean exactly? Would it heal his wounds with magic? Would it reawaken his wolf? There were too many questions and only one way to answer them. 

Without another moment of hesitation, Bran tipped over the bottle and lapped the clear liquid off the ground as it spilled out. It tasted faintly sweet with a strong bitter aftertaste, like chewing on wildflowers.

At first, Bran felt nothing and he worried he had been deceived. Then, slowly, a warm feeling spread from his stomach towards his extremities. When the heat finally reached his paws, the warmth grew in intensity until his body began to burn all over. He panted heavily as the heat grew to a near uncomfortable level. To his surprise, his wounds began to seal before his eyes. In seconds, wounds that had begun to fester due to silver poisoning and the loss of his heightened healing closed up in a matter of seconds. Overall, the burning lasted for a minute or two before disappearing entirely. 

Bran stood up and tested his limbs. The sickly ache from the silver had vanished along with the deep warmth from the potion. There was still a faint soreness in a few parts of his body, but he had managed to recover enough that he would be able to walk on his own.

He returned to the now empty bottle, using his nose to memorize the scent of the odd healing potion in case he needed to use one again in the future. It appeared that this potion had the ability to elevate his metabolic rate and thus improve healing. The only drawback is that it made his hunger return with a vengeance. As he inspected the bottle, a piercing scream filled the cavern. A man raced past Bran and collapsed on the ground. His entire body was engulfed in flames that continued to burn even after the fire had run out of fuel. 

The strange woman wandered towards the charred remains, her hood and scarf failing to hide the smile in her eyes. “I much prefer to be called a mage. If not that, then you may call me your funeral instead.” She glanced at Bran and the empty bottle. “So you took my advice. See? I bet you already feel better.”

Bran grunted, neither confirming nor denying her words.

The woman suddenly paused and studied him carefully. Slowly, so as not to spook him, she reached a hand out toward him. Bran eyed her hand warily and took a step back.

The woman threw her hands in the air and huffed. “Still don’t trust me after I gave you one of my potions? Fine! Then I guess I’ll just be on my way. Have fun getting yourself killed next time.” She turned away from him.

The woman’s outburst caught Bran off guard. She hadn’t struck him as the explosive type. His reaction must have upset her more than Bran had realized. Though he wasn’t sure why. Her shoulders had been stiff and her voice strained slightly as she spoke. Any display of calmness had simply been a cover for her internal turmoil. The cause of said turmoil, Bran did not know. 

Mage, she had said. Not witch. True, Bran thought. A mage could be a general term for any kind of magic user. It was about as specific as referring to oneself as a non-mage. However, he found her choice of words interesting. He looked at the burnt corpse. Witches did not typically use fire. Witches mainly dealt with magic affecting the body. Sacrifice, mind manipulation, necromancy. These were all tricks that witches could exploit. Elemental spells like fire were less common among witches. Furthermore, fire had a greater potential to react explosively with witchcraft which made its practical uses even less practical for witches. 

“If you are just gonna be an asshole, I’ll help your friend over here instead.”

Bran whirled around in horror as the woman unlocked the cell door for the deranged werewolf. No sooner had the door swung open that the once dazed wolf’s eyes suddenly locked onto the woman and filled with madness. Before Bran could bark a warning, the werewolf pounced onto the woman and pinned her against the ground. Its milky yellow eyes burned with rage and hunger, and strings of slobber dripped from its mouth as it tried to close its jaws on the woman’s head. The woman let out a shriek of alarm and grasped the underside of the wolf’s jaws in an attempt to push them away. The werewolf let out a drunken roar of rage and swiped her arms aside with a clawed hand. 

Bran leapt forward and locked his jaws on the feral werewolf’s neck. With a yank of his jaws, he tore the werewolf’s throat open, leaving it to bleed out as it clawed at its throat and screamed. Finally, it collapsed on the ground and grew still. 

Bran made sure the werewolf was dead before checking on the woman’s state. She was still laying on the ground gasping for air. Her leather armor was stained with blood. Fortunately, minus the blood oozing out of a gash on her arm, most of the blood was not hers. She looked at him, eyes wide and intense like she was watching a potential threat, before relaxing her defensive posture. 

“Well that could have gone worse.”

Bran levelled his best canid frown at her. To his surprise, she laughed. 

“Okay, fine. Thank you for not letting him eat me. You’re pretty tough for a dog.”

He wasn’t sure if she was joking or serious. 

The woman hopped to her feet and dusted herself off as if she hadn’t just nearly lost her head. “If that’s all there is to it, let’s get out of here. That is if you actually want to leave.”

In response, Bran turned around and fervently padded towards the cave’s exit getting another laugh out of the woman. The cave gave way to open forest. Fresh air unsoiled by the odors of death filled Bran’s nose and he resisted the urge to roll in the grass and rid himself of the last bits of rancid odor. 

The woman glanced at him expectantly. “Well that’s it. Looks like we go our separate ways from here. I’ve got a bounty to collect. Farewell.” She started off into the woods. 

Bran watched as she walked away. Watching her disappear into the woods made his heart pang with an unfamiliar feeling. This woman had saved him twice thus far yet never demanded any repayment from him. True. He wasn’t entirely sure if she realized that he was a werewolf. The Silver Hand had also captured and tortured numerous non-lycanthrope wolves and dogs. But regardless, she had never attempted to force him into an unfair bargain. Even though he had saved her only minutes before, that still meant she had one more favor that she could hold over his head. 

Even if he wished to repay her, however, he had other matters to attend to. Most important of all, he needed to return home. He still wasn’t quite sure where or when he was and how he had managed to get here, but returning to Aspen Creek was of the utmost importance. Who knew what the witches had done to his pack in his absence. 

His situation brought him to his second problem. His ability to return home was crippled by his inability to change back into his human form or sense his pack. If only he had a human mouth to speak with, he could have questioned the woman to glean more knowledge about this strange place. Instead, he was stuck in the form of the wolf, armed with fangs and claws that had so far failed to protect him in such a foreign environment. If he at least had some knowledge of this world….

He sighed in defeat. He had no other choice then. He picked up the woman’s scent trail with his nose and made his way into the forest. 

He caught up to the woman not too far into the woods. As soon as she heard his pawsteps, she pulled out a bow from...somewhere and aimed it at him. When she caught sight of the wolf, she blinked at him and, with a sigh, lowered her bow. 

“It seems that we are both headed in the same direction. Great.” She spoke quietly but his ears still caught her words. She turned away and kept walking. Bran hurried to catch up with her.

When he caught up, he stepped into her path and sat down, blocking her way. The woman came to a screeching halt and glared at him. “What are you -- never mind.”

She attempted to step around him, but he moved to block her path again. She scowled at him. “Really? What could you possibly want this time?”

Bran wagged his tail amicably. 

“I’m all out of horker loaf so no more treats,” she said dryly. 

It looked like he needed to up his game. He lowered his ears and gave his best impression of a sad dog whimper. 

She looked unimpressed. “You got to be nasty towards me and even tried to bite me a couple times, but now you’re looking for sympathy? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Bran was dealing with a tough one. He would have to pull out his final trump card if he wanted any chance at succeeding. He rolled onto his back, tucked his tail between his legs, and gave his best puppy dog eyes. 

She frowned at first. Then she sighed. Then, the break Bran had been looking for. A faint blush touched her cheeks. “You’re so cute, it’s disgusting. Fine. You can come with me.” 

Victory. Bran hopped back to his feet and started leading the way through the forest skipping like a young pup.

The woman shook her head, the blush barely fading. “Riften is this way, you dingdong. Keep up.”

With that, Bran accompanied the woman on the way back to the cabin. He had made a small step today. Although, he was still far away from finding his way back home. Soon, he would have to consider the next phase of his plan. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is up and ready! Chapter 5 should be here next weekend.

Bran spent the next five days curled up in the lower level of the mage’s elevated cabin. He stared at the walls blankly. Days before, the strange woman had rescued him from the Silver Hand’s hideout. She’d brought him back to her cabin and decided to let him stay in the spare bedroom in her cabin. “More time to recover before heading back out,” she’d said.

He had planned on spending the next couple of days following his rescue manipulating the mage into aiding him. However, he woke up the next morning feeling morose and lethargic. He would spend the entire day sprawled out on an old rug, refusing to move. Despite being starved for so many days, he found himself unwilling to eat any of the morsels of food the mage had offered to him. At first, the woman had attributed his refusal of food to stubbornness and had reacted with annoyance and frustration. Recently, however, she seemed more concerned and would check on him frequently and offer him better food.

Bran would have snorted at her behavior if he had the energy to do so. The mage was clearly the secretive type, saying very little about herself and trying to hide what she was thinking. She had no idea how much she gave away when her face scrunched up in worry at the sight of his depressed form, or when she would sit down and talk to him about trivial matters just to give herself an excuse to linger in his room.

In truth, Bran was only partially aware of why he had been so unresponsive as of late. He blamed part of it on wistfulness. He missed his pack, he missed his wolf, he had even begun to miss his mate bond despite its current unimportance. Here in the quiet solitude of this room, he could no longer hide from the fact that Leah was dead. He had watched her die with his own eyes, evil magic tearing the soul from his mate’s body until there was nothing left. He had even felt her death through the destruction of his mate bond, and her absence left a hole in his chest that no amount of food or water could fill.

It had been a long time since a death had affected him so deeply. He told himself that it was because Leah was a part of his pack and thus, he felt responsible for her death. He also blamed the mate bond for intensifying the backlash of her death and leaving him in a depressed stupor. Because she had been a packmate and nothing more than a mate in its most basic, simplest form. He did not love her.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the person creeping into his room. She held a bowl of rich-scented soup and had a small smile on her face.

“I brought you some venison soup. I thought you would like it.” She placed it on the ground in front of him and waited.

Bran stared at the bowl with complete disinterest.

She sighed in frustration. “Come on. You have to eat something. You look thin.”

A knock interrupted them. The woman glanced upwards towards the invisible door above their heads. She cast one last look at Bran before stepping away.

“Coming,” she shouted. The door eased open and the heavy tread of boots entered the cabin above him. They stopped in the kitchen. Whispered voices reached his ears.

“Yes. I know, Brynjolf. The deal is still on.”

“Then what is the delay? You were supposed to depart days ago. Maven won’t be happy if the business pact is pushed back any further.”

There was a pause. “Well?”

“There was...a small setback. Nothing to be worried about. I will take care of things shortly.”

There was another pause which was caught off by a sigh. “I hope you know what you are doing, sweetheart. You haven’t been yourself lately. Is something wrong?”

“Like I said. Nothing to worry about. You tell Maven that she will receive communications within the next few days.”

“Lyz...very well. I wish you luck.” The door slammed shut.

Bran had only a few moments to ponder the question before the woman, Lyz, he now knew, boiled down the stairs in an angry rush. The doors to his room burst open.

Lyz crossed her arms against her chest. “Time’s up. You need to get off your butt right now so we can get moving.”

Bran stared at her.

Lyz’s face twisted with barely suppressed fury before she disappeared out the room a second time. A door slammed on the level above him. Bran shut his eyes and tried to lull himself back into a dreamless stupor. Sleep was easier than juggling the thoughts crowding his head. He quietly hoped that his sleep wouldn’t be interrupted by dreams of a certain tawny wolf. His doze was interrupted, however, when a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped on his head. Bran exploded to his feet with an enraged snarl.

Lyz tossed the bucket aside. “Now you know I mean business,” she said smugly. “Listen. A... business partner has asked me to travel to Windhelm to deal with a small case of tortious interference. You are coming with me.”

Bran glared at her, dripping wet and still seething.

She smiled, misunderstanding the cause of his anger. “You thought that you could stay in my house for free? Nope! You have to pay your way. That’s what happens when you meddle your way into other people’s lives.”

_She was one to talk_ , Bran grumbled to himself. She should have just let him mope in peace. Now his rug was soiled. He eyed the poor cloth pityingly.

“First things first.” Lyz nudged the bowl of soup towards him and looked at him expectantly.

Bran glanced at the bowl of soup then glanced at the bucket in the corner of the room weighing his odds. He could just ignore her and go back to sleep. But if he did that, she might just grab another bucket of water. Did he smell fish? In the end, he gave in to the demanding woman and forced the cold soup down his throat with the ferocity of a sloth. Lyz rolled her eyes at his slowness but relented and left him to eat in peace.

Once Bran had finished eating, Lyz buckled on her leather armor and cloak and loaded a bag full of supplies. He noticed that she had grabbed a pair of daggers from the downstairs weapon rack but did not bother to grab any of the larger weapons. What did she plan on doing if they ran into trouble? The men Bran had seen fought with swords and large axes. A pair of daggers wouldn’t stand a chance in a direct fight. She should have chosen a stronger weapon.

Bran was already questioning his choice of company. He needed someone who wouldn’t get them killed or captured. Maybe he should have looked for someone else to tag along with. Bran shook his head. If she managed to fight the Silver Hand, she must have a trick up her sleeve.

Before setting off, they stopped in town to gather more supplies. “Out of poison cures,” Lyz had quietly explained. Bran wondered what kind of danger she was expecting if she needed such specific supplies.

Riften was...interesting to say the least. Locals wandered across wooden boardwalks conversing, bartering and otherwise carrying out business with each other. Men and women wearing ragged clothing sat at corners holding up pots and pans begging for spare coins. Everyone treated each other with both familiarity and constant suspicion. They never stood too close to each other and always kept their hands resting on their pockets. Bran did not understand why until he caught a glimpse of a figure slithering out of a dark corner and snatching a coin purse from the belt of an unsuspecting trader. The trader shouted in alarm and attempted to pursue the pickpocket, but the thief had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. The trader looked around helplessly seeking aid from the locals who had witnessed the theft. However, everyone either kept their eyes averted or snickered quietly amongst themselves.

The scene made Bran’s hackles rise. Everyone, Lyz included, seemed too comfortable with criminal behavior here. Even the guards stationed in the plaza were disinterested in managing the thieves who were blatantly preying on the visiting merchants.

Lyz, still oblivious to the crimes being committed all around her, approached a stall where a gray-skinned woman was selling meat from a cart.

“I need some supplies for the road,” Lyz said simply when the woman smiled and nodded at her. The woman, Bran noted, had coal-red eyes and pointed ears. An elf, he presumed. This world had elves.

Lyz studied the racks of meat. Her hand raised to push back a strand of hair, revealing a faint scar on her neck. She asked the butcher a few questions before selecting a couple pieces of meat. The elf filled a bag full of strips of preserved meats and offered it to Lyz in exchange for a handful of coins.

Next, they visited the blacksmith who reminded Lyz that he was still low on ebony ingots and would need help securing a new shipment. Lyz promised to visit a mining village on her way back to Riften and let them know that he was looking for new suppliers.

They were leaving the blacksmith’s shop when someone suddenly stepped into their path. Unlike the other people they had encountered in the town, this woman was dressed in expensive clothes. Her rich, dark hair was combed back into an elaborate braid. Her eyes were narrowed, and her thin lips were pulled back into a pretentious sneer. What Bran found most interesting about this stranger was how Lyz stiffened at the sight of the woman.

“Look at you strolling around the market shopping for goodies.” The woman’s sneer deepened. “I wasn’t aware that your guild had started dallying on my dime.”

“Lady Blackbriar,” Lyz said in a flat voice that did not match her tense posture. “I was simply purchasing some supplies before leaving the city. I try to be well-prepared for my outings.”

“I’d hope so.” Lady Blackbriar paused as she studied Lyz’s blank face carefully. “Don’t dally long. Misfortunes tend to happen to those who waste my time.” With that, Lady Blackbriar strolled away without giving the pair a second glance.

Lyz watched the woman go before looking down at Bran. She didn’t say anything as she studied him with an unreadable expression. Then she let out a sigh.

“It looks like we better get a move on then.” Without another word, Lyz gathered up their supplies and they went on their way.

They set off into the wilderness soon afterwards, Lyz setting a brisk but steady pace and Bran reluctantly keeping up. Riften was nestled within a large aspen forest. Honeybee hives and spiny mushrooms poked out from the trunks of trees and golden leaves rained down on their heads every time the wind blew. At one point, a horrible odor swept past them causing Bran to gag. Lyz explained that the smell was coming from a troll which was apparently endemic to the area. They were grouchy, cantankerous and quite fond of eating people. These little bits of knowledge Bran made sure to store for later.

Lyz was in the middle of explaining how to drive away trolls with fire when she paused and stared at something down the road. A wagon had broken down in the middle of the road. It appeared abandoned at first glance, but when they went to take a closer look, they found an ugly scene.

Three bodies were slumped over inside the wagon. A mother and two children. The horse that had been pulling the wagon had also perished, having been felled by a barrage of blows from an axe. A strange odor coated the surrounding area. Bran took a deep breath. It was a mix of blood, moisture and something dark. He was taking another deep whiff of the strange scent when Lyz suddenly seized him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him into the bushes. Bran whirled around to snap at her hand but froze at the look on her face.

Lyz kept her breath slow and quiet, eyes scanning the road while she waited. An unnatural feeling of dread crept over them as they waited silently. Bran looked around but didn’t see anything. Only after several minutes had elapsed did she finally relax. She held out an arrow for Bran to sniff.

The arrow was rather crude yet efficiently built. The arrow was raven black and had an oddly tipped point as if it had been constructed from the carapace of some large insect rather than from stone or metal. The arrow reeked of the same dark odor he had scented on the destroyed wagon.

Lyz held a finger to her lips before they proceeded in silence.

When they were a good distance away from the wagon, Bran looked up at Lyz in question. She didn’t appear to notice as her face remained scrunched up in a solemn expression. He nudged her hand with his nose causing her to glance at him in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the wagon, then back at her.

Lyz’s eyes darkened in understanding and she looked away from him, still frowning. “The falmer attacks have been progressively getting worse. First, they were only attacking people who traveled underground. But now? Now they’ve been attacking people on the surface. No one has figured out where they are coming from and anyone who has gone investigating either found nothing or never returned.”

The bleakness of her words unsettled Bran. He had never heard of falmer before, but the way she spoke of them made them out to be rather terrifying. He would have to remember to question her about that later, however he would manage that. They continued the rest of the walk in silence.

The short walk through Riften’s forest was making it painfully aware how unprepared Bran was for this world. He had already learned about several dangerous creatures during the course of this outing. He considered how unlucky he was to run into the Silver Hand and how much worse it could have been if he had instead been found by the falmer. Lyz probably wouldn’t have been there to rescue him.

He shivered in fear and frustration. He was truly helpless in this world. Without the Change and his pack to back him up, he was a sitting duck for whatever monster stumbled across him. It was only by a stroke of luck that he was still alive right now. Now he was stuck relying on a total stranger for his safety. He hated how weak it made him feel. He hated even more how terrified he was.

The aspen forest soon gave way to a large valley. Hot springs dotted the valley here and there, many of them reminding him of the hot springs in Yellowstone Park. The main difference from the park was the local wildlife. The path they traveled down was lined with tentacle-like plants and berry vines that reminded him of grapes. Deeper into the valley, Bran spotted a herd of mammoths led by a giant hominid creature. More surprising was the distant roar of some large beast whose voice made his chest vibrate with its deepness.

Everything was both strange and fascinating and he wished more than anything that he had a human mouth to ask Lyz questions about what he was witnessing. He looked up at the woman. Her face was a blank mask that not even his years of experience reading people allowed him to penetrate. It unsettled him how easily the woman learned to hide her emotions and he began to wonder where she had acquired such a skill. She must have noticed him staring because she glanced down at him then away into the distance. She walked just an inch further away from him.

Still didn’t trust him, Bran guessed. He felt that was only fair. Up until recently, he had been incredibly antagonistic towards her and now he was walking alongside her like an obedient hound. That would make any experienced traveler wary.

He tested her by sneezing suddenly, watching as tension rolled over her shoulders before slowly vaporizing from her posture like morning fog. Bran smiled to himself. It seemed that he would have to get her used to him if she was going to be useful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Lyz make a pit stop in a small village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of the short ones, so I was able to post it early. If I have enough free time this weekend, I may end up posting chapter 6 on Sunday. If not, then it will be ready next Saturday.

The pair stopped to rest in a small village known as Kynesgrove. The settlement was north of the hotsprings, but still close enough that Bran could occasionally catch the smell of sulphur on the wind. 

In the center of the small village was the Braidwood Inn. The inn, despite its lack of modern amenities, was much to Bran’s liking. Its exterior was modest. Its interior was small but comfortable. It was family-owned from the looks of it, with personal touches here and there marking the family’s taste. A few villagers sat at wooden tables drinking ale and talking amongst themselves. 

Lyz walked up to the innkeeper and placed a few coins on the counter. “One room for two.”

The innkeeper looked at Lyz, then looked down at Bran. “We don’t usually allow animals in here.”

Lyz raised an eyebrow and placed a couple more coins on the table. The innkeeper gave Lyz an annoyed look, but took the money and handed them a key. Lyz gave a small smile, the first genuine smile she had given since Bran had met her, and headed into one of the rooms. 

Their room was small. There was only enough room for a single bed, a dresser, and a rug spread across the ground. As soon as Lyz entered the room, she dropped her bag on the ground and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. Bran carefully stepped over the bag and settled down on the rug. The room descended into silence. Bran debated whether or not Lyz had fallen asleep when Lyz’s face remained buried in the sheets. Just when he was convinced that she had really fallen asleep that quickly, the woman’s face turned to the side and her gray eyes met his. They sat there and stared at each other for a long time, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Bran lowered his ears and wagged his tail in a bid to end the awkward staring contest. 

“What is it?” Lyz seemed confused. 

Bran nudged her hand with her nose causing Lyz to recoil with a hiss. Okay, Bran thought. Still jumpy. Need to be more careful about how he proceeds. He came up with a better idea. 

Getting up slowly, so not to further alarm Lyz, Bran went over to the door and nudged the handle with his nose. 

Lyz frowned. “You need to go pee or something?”

Bran rolled his eyes. It would have to do. He nudged the door handle again. Lyz carefully got up and opened the door, never taking her eyes off the wolf. As soon as the door was open wide enough, Bran squeezed his way out the door and stopped beside the innkeeper’s counter. Lyz blinked at him from beside the door and slowly made her way over to him. When she reached him, he gave her a sad look and whined. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Lyz asked, confusion written on her face. 

Bran gave another sad whine.

“I think your pet is hungry,” the innkeeper said blandly. “When was the last time you fed it?”

“Uhhh….”

If Bran wasn’t a werewolf, he would have missed the sheepishness in her voice.

“I would like to order two bowls of beef stew.”

The innkeeper rolled her eyes as she took Lyz’s payment and shooed them back to their room. “Just don’t make a mess, you two.”

The pair ate their food in silence. Lyz sat cross-legged on the floor and kept her eyes off of Bran as she ate. Through his observations, Bran had noticed that the woman always carried an air of wariness about her. When they had traveled through the wilderness, her eyes never rested in any one direction for too long and her muscles stayed bunched as if ready to spring out of the way of a sudden attack. Even now, as she sat eating her meal, the woman’s shoulders were tense and stiff.

Bran had observed a similar behavior in some of the lone wolves he had kept an eye on. They always watched their backs and trusted no one. He wondered what had caused this woman to behave this way. He wondered if she had family somewhere or if she was a loner like some of his wolves.

Bran lapped up the last of his food and waited for Lyz to finish her bowl. She ate with her hood pulled over her head which Bran found a bit odd. There wasn’t anyone in the room she needed to hide her face from and it wasn’t that cold in the room either. He assumed she must be doing it out of habit. Oddly enough, despite her rough appearance, she ate delicately. She held the wooden spoon as if it were made of silver. She ate slowly unlike Bran who had devoured his food like any hungry dog would. He made sure to store this discovery in his memory for later. 

Lyz looked up and noticed Bran staring at her. She stared back. “What?”

Bran lowered his head and blinked, not really sure how to respond to being caught.

Lyz glared at him. “Stop judging me.”

Bran huffed with a suppressed laugh. The one time Lyz decides to be a mindreader. A dark thought crossed his mind. Maybe she could read minds. 

_I am Bran Cornick, Marrok of North America, Alpha of the Marrok. Answer me._ Bran telegraphed the thought as loudly as he physically could. 

Lyz didn’t even flinch. She had already turned her attention back to her bowl of food and was chewing slowly. She hadn’t heard him.

Bran let out a lungful of air he hadn’t realized he was holding. Lyz was not like his mother. She could not read minds. He was both relieved and annoyed by how useful that could have been. Perhaps mindreading wouldn’t be necessary, Bran reasoned. With enough contact, she may end up learning how to read his body language. But to do that, he would need to rid her of her wariness of him. Nervous people aren’t as willing to communicate with the object of their stress. So Bran settled down and waited. 

When she finally placed her bowl on the ground, Bran stood up and made his way towards her. Lyz instantly tensed and watched his eyes carefully, like a wolf waiting for its rival to make the first move. If Bran’s wolf had been present in his mind, it would have taken the look as a challenge. Thankfully, the temperamental canine was still absent. Bran settled down beside her and placed his muzzle on her lap. Lyz watched him silently and Bran began to wonder if this woman had ever interacted with a dog or any kind of animal when she slowly placed a hand on his head. Delicately, she stroked the fur on his head. Bran let out a contented sigh and snuggled deeper into her lap.

“So this is what you like,” Lyz mused. “Unless you’re still thinking about biting me.”

Bran ignored the teasing comment.

“Do you know where your owner is? Is he still alive?”

Bran twitched an ear. So she really did think he was just a dog. Useful. And not entirely unexpected. Skyrim had large dogs which looked strikingly similar to wolfhounds. With Bran’s gray fur and relatively small size, he probably looked like a crossbreed of the common dogs.

“Do you at least know where you came from?”

Bran looked at her through a half-opened eye, then went back to enjoying her petting.

“You know,” Lyz said. “This would be a lot easier if you could talk.”

Bran sneezed in agreement. She had _no_ idea. 

Much to the werewolf’s disappointment, she stopped petting him and instead moved to the bed. She pulled out a book from her bag and began reading it. The book was titled “The Mystery of the Female Dragon: One Expert’s Opinion.” Strange title for a book, but Bran was indeed in a strange world. He sprawled out on the rug and rested while she read. After rifling through the book for an hour or two, Lyz placed the book aside and curled up underneath the bed sheets. 

Night soon fell. Lyz had already nestled herself into her bed and fallen asleep. Meanwhile, Bran laid on the rug and pondered everything he had learned today. 

This world was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was full of creatures both familiar and unfamiliar. Simply from what he had gleaned from Lyz and the stray conversations of townsfolk, this world was populated by many powerful and dangerous monsters, some of whom were more intelligent than humans. All of them capable of killing Bran.

He cursed his stupidity. He had been ready to wander off into the unknown in search of his pack. If it hadn’t been for Lyz, he would not have lasted more than a week in the wilderness. Even if he had managed to survive, he would have ended up getting lost. He wasn’t normally this careless. He blamed his foolishness on the aftermath of Leah’s death still clouding his common sense. 

In fact, while he worked on finding his way back home, he also needed to work out who or what had attacked him so close to Aspen Creek. The haggard creature was neither human nor bird, but had reeked of black magic. He suspected that it must have been a creature of this world. If that was the case, how did the black witches of his world manage to contact the witches of this one? These were questions that he would have to solve as he figured his way out of this world. He glanced at Lyz. If only he could change back to a human. Then he would be able to get those answers from her. 

Now that the terror of near death no longer hung over his head, he was able to better evaluate his new companion. She was definitely not a witch. Her magic smelled too clean and too natural to be derived from pain and death. A wizard perhaps. That would explain why she was driven to heal him rather than take advantage of his weakness. Despite that fact, some aspects of the woman still made him rather suspicious. For one, she was careful and secretive even around him. She carried her blades with deft hands and could move too silently for it to not be at least partly magical. Furthermore, this “job” that she was sent out to perform seemed to involve scuzzy characters that did not quite match her quiet, calm persona. Just who was this woman?

Questions fluttered around Bran’s mind like a mad swarm of butterflies. At this rate, he was never getting any sleep. He would need to clear his mind a bit before he could rest.

Quietly, so as not to awaken Lyz, Bran slipped out of the inn and disappeared into the surrounding wilderness. Kynesgrove provided an exposed but quiet area for Bran to roam around in. He let out the suppressed wolf instincts in his lupine body run wild as he tracked a rabbit through the plains and gave chase. The rabbit managed to evade him, but the hunt left Bran feeling refreshed and exhilarated. 

Out here in the open air, he felt like he could deal with all of the new changes bombarding him. The part of his chest that had felt tight and twisted ever since he had arrived in Skyrim eased as he took in the familiar, natural scent of the wilderness. Here, he did not need to worry about his pack, or how his sons were handling things in his stead. For this one moment, he could relax and soak in the light and peace of the night sky. 

Out of instinct, Bran looked up at the moon. No. _Moons_. Bran did a double take. The first moon was as white and round as the moon he was familiar with -- if not a little too close for comfort. The second moon was larger and as crimson as the planet Mars. The two moons seemed to both orbit the planet that Bran stood upon as well as each other. Their motion seemed too unnatural to be normal. It was as if they were held in place by magic. It would take a large amount of magic to prevent such large, planetary bodies from colliding with each other. It made Bran wonder. 

To test his theory, Bran reached out with his senses and let the small amount of magic left in his body touch the moons’. The moons’ magic was both strange and soothing. It whispered in his ears and settled over the world around him. However, the moons’ song was starkly different from the one he was used to. These moons neither awakened his wolf, nor did they call to him like Earth’s moon did. Bran knew that if he tried to change underneath these two moons, their magic would not aid him. 

He sighed. 

It was getting late and he needed to get some rest. He would be accompanying Lyz on her “job” and he wanted to be in his best shape to face whatever happened. With a last deep breath, Bran made his way back down the hill towards Kynesgrove. At least, that was his intention. A shadow passed over him as ice blasted his back.

  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran gets a first-hand experience with one of Skyrim's iconic monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, I have written out rough drafts to around chapter 23. Based on how far that got me into the story, I estimate that I will be writing at least 50 chapters for this one. Oof!

A roar made of searing ice blasted Bran and threw him off his paws.

_FO KRAH DIIN!_

Magic more powerful than anything he had ever experienced popped his ears and left him sprawled on the ground. Ice sank its teeth through his fur and seared his flesh as a large scaly creature soared over his head.

Dragons, as Bran remembered them, were extremely rare creatures that carried magic similar to the fae’s yet were not fae. They were intelligent creatures that could disguise themselves as any living creature and had a preference for powerful elemental magics. The few dragons Bran had encountered in his life had been as beautiful as the shiniest cobras, and equally as deadly. They were beautiful and they were dangerous.

This dragon, however, was in a category of its own. Everything about it screamed power, danger and intelligence. Thick silver scales covered its body in a rough, armor-like pattern. Black spines protruded from its back like needles. Horns wrapped its skull like an ancient crown. With every roar that came from its massive maw, another wave of magic pummeled Bran with an absolute force.

The dragon circled overhead, staring down at Bran with piercing eyes. It quickly lost interest, however, when the wolf failed to stand up and face the serpentine beast. Instead, the dragon turned its attention to the nearby village and all the unsuspecting occupants still resting inside.

_Oh no_ , Bran thought coldly. They won’t even see the dragon coming. He needed to warn them before it was too late. He forced himself to his feet with a roar of pain when the raw skin of his back protested. Unfortunately, two moons were not better than one. Bran healed as slowly as any normal wolf and he couldn’t use the Change to speed his healing along.

As the dragon descended upon Kynesgrove, Bran raced his way towards the inn where Lyz still lay in her bed. Bran reached the front door of the inn in record time despite his injuries. Unfortunately for him, he had arrived right as the dragon began its first attack. There was a loud crash as the dragon landed on top of the entrance to the mine and snatched up a dozing guard into its maw. The guard didn’t even have a chance to scream in alarm before the crunch signaled the end of his life. The other guard, however, who had been standing mere feet away from his companion glanced up at the dragon and let out a blood-curdling shriek as he stumbled away from the incredible beast.

Bran paid the guard no heed as he rushed his way into the inn. He remembered the way to Lyz’s room. Past the tables. Second door to the left. Bran burst through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. He turned towards the bed to find it empty. He looked around furiously. Both Lyz and her bag had disappeared. Where had she gone? He didn’t get a chance to look further before the roof caved in. A horse-drawn wagon fell into the main hall and collapsed the doorway. Screams poured through the ceiling as the village was stirred into a panic as everyone realized they were under attack.

He was too late, Bran realized. Lyz must have noticed his absence and went out looking for him. He cursed his carelessness and made his way into the main hall of the inn. Debris littered the main hall. Tables lay snapped in half under the weight of rubble. The innkeeper cowered behind the remains of her counter, her hands covering her mouth to suppress her cries of terror. The door, Bran saw, was blocked by a pile of destroyed wood and stone. Even with his werewolf strength, he would not be able to move them on his own. He glanced at the hole in the roof. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to make his way back out.

Using the rubble on the ground as a bridge, Bran crawled and jumped his way through the opening in the roof. He stuck his head out the opening and ducked just in time as the dragon landed before him and let out another blast of ice at the fleeing villagers. Bran quickly scrambled his way onto the roof, then slid down the side without catching the dragon’s attention. The burn on his back stung just as bad as a burn made by fire. Bran suspected that most of the damage was caused by magic rather than the icy cold of the dragon’s breath.

Bran crept his way around the remains of the inn seeking out Lyz when a blast of lightning zipped past him and struck the dragon in the side. The dragon let out a roar of pain -- or perhaps rage -- and swiveled its head towards the source of the attack. A whirlwind of electricity and rock hovered into Bran’s line of sight. It hissed at the dragon before sending another bolt of electricity in the dragon’s direction.

A hand fell on Bran’s back causing the wolf to whirl around with a snarl. Lyz shushed him before holding a hand above his burned back. A soft magic eased into his skin and caused the wound to heal over. The sensation of another person’s magic entering his body offended Bran and he let out a deep growl to voice his displeasure. Lyz shushed him again, clearly not intimidated by the angry werewolf right next to her.

“Keep quiet,” Lyz murmured into his ear. “I’ll deal with the dragon.”

Bran tilted his head at her in confusion. What did she plan to do? That monster was bigger than an elephant and had teeth big enough to snap a tree in half. How was _she_ going to stop it? He watched as she removed a dark red bottle attached to her belt and placed it on the ground. She flicked her wrist and murmured a word, and in an instant a short dark blade appeared in her hand. Bran took a step back as the scent of unknown magic filled his nose. The blade was engraved with strange runes and glowed a faint crimson. Lyz dipped the end of the blade into the dark bottle and coated it with a clear oily substance.

Blade in hand, Lyz clambered her way onto the roof of the former inn and snuck up behind the dragon. The dragon, preoccupied with fighting the strange electric golem, failed to notice as Lyz positioned herself just behind its wing. In one swift motion, Lyz lunged forward, burying the blade into the joint connecting the dragon’s wing to its shoulder. The dragon let out a roar and snapped its teeth at Lyz. The woman danced out of the way of the dragon’s jaws, tumbling off the roof in the process.

Lyz landed on the ground feet first with a hiss of pain. She cast a quick healing spell and darted away from the old building.

Witnessing its prey escaping, the dragon leapt into the air and spread its wings to catch the wind. However, the injury at its shoulder fought against it and its wing collapsed and sent the serpent crashing to the ground. The dragon shook the dirt off its face and glared in the direction of the woman’s disappearance.

“Mey joor,” the dragon rumbled. “Hi fen ni filok zu’u.”

Each word rattled the ground with a buried power. The meanings of the words escaped Bran, but he felt the earth perk up at the sound of the dragon’s voice. It could only be magic. The dragon’s words held power.

The golem blasted the dragon with another bolt of lightning. The dragon snarled and sent the construct flying with a flick of its tail. The golem smashed against a building and disappeared with a loud crackle, the magic holding its physical form dissipating. The dragon snorted proudly and crept down the village road. It sought out Lyz and froze any guard that got in its way. Its now useless wing dragged across the ground as the dragon made its way past Bran’s hiding spot, paying the wolf no heed.

The dragon sniffed the air. “I know you are here, _mortal_. I am Alduin’s chosen hunter. My prey _never_ escapes me.”

Wood creaked inside the wreckage on the dragon’s right side. Faster than a whip, the dragon’s head whipped around and sent a blast of ice in the direction of the sound. There was another loud groan as the villager’s house collapsed under the weight of ice. The dragon stared at the wreckage before rumbling in disapproval. Its prey had escaped.

A shining light caught the corner of the dragon’s eye and caused it to shake its head in annoyance. It whipped its head back towards the light in time to catch an arrow in its eye. The dragon let out a scream loud enough to hurt Bran’s ears as it twisted and flailed on the ground in pain. Lyz, face a black shadow underneath a dark hood, leapt out from behind a building. She flicked her wrist and her dark blade reappeared in her hand. She lunged at the flailing dragon, her footsteps silent. With a rough swing, she slashed at the dragon’s throat back and forth until the beast’s screams began to weaken. Lyz stepped back and perched on top of a rock as the dragon’s writhing slowed then eventually ceased entirely as the giant beast grew still.

“Alduin’s dead,” Lyz sneered at the dead dragon.

Bran gaped in a mixture of shock and horror. Lyz had single-handedly slain a dragon. And she had done so with ease. Even the stories of knights who had conquered dragons had struggled to put the reptilian beasts down. Lyz had done so as if she had years of practice.

Lyz waited another minute or two before approaching the dragon. Her steps were wary, as if she expected the dragon to jump up and bite her if she moved too quickly. She pressed her palm against the dragon’s chest and let out a sigh of relief when she felt no pulse. Bran swallowed thickly. If she felt that it was safe to come out of hiding, then it was probably safe for him to do so too. Her hands were sliding over the dragon’s scales when Bran came up to her side.

“These scales will fetch a good price,” Lyz said mildly as if she weren’t covered in dragon blood. “Dragon scales have many applications in both alchemy and armor crafting. We need to pack some of them up before we leave.”

Just fought a dragon and she was already thinking about money. Typical. Before Bran could respond, the rest of the village’s residents rose out of their hiding spots behind the rubble and approached the dragon’s still form.

“A dragon?”

“The village was nearly destroyed by the last dragon attack a year ago. I thought the Dragonborn stopped all of the dragons.”

“Maybe that awful dragon everyone was talking about came back.”

“Alduin’s dead,” Lyz repeated simply. She looked over her shoulder and gave the villagers a cool stare. “I killed the dragon, so I get dibs on the body.”

The villagers appeared to ignore her entirely as the shock of the dragon attack began to wear off.

“My house! It’s all gone!”

“Our grain storage! Our guards!”

“Look at the mines! The whole thing has collapsed. How will we feed ourselves now?”

Bran glanced at the despairing villagers then back at Lyz who was busying herself with prying scales off the dragon’s body with a knife. If they left now, the villagers wouldn’t survive for long. No money and no one to guard them meant they were vulnerable to the next thing that came to kill them, human or not. They weren’t his pack and thus not his responsibility but….

Bran looked at the dragon’s corpse then frowned at Lyz. With a rough yank, he pulled on Lyz’s cloak hard enough to tug the woman away from her scale harvesting. Lyz whirled around with an angry snarl and glowered at Bran. He met her stare with a glare of his own. Lyz hesitated. Warrior or not, staring into the amber eyes of an apex predator would cause anyone to pause. The wolf turned his eyes toward the dragon then gestured with his nose back towards the villagers. Lyz looked back and forth before her face settled into a scowl.

“I am _not_ giving my kill to a bunch of villagers. I worked too hard killing that scaly thing just to let someone else take the loot.”

Bran pinned his ears back and snarled.

“Are you scolding me? I’m being scolded by a dog? Who do you think you are? Barbas?”

Bran didn’t know this Barbas, but he was probably more reasonable than Lyz was being right now. He met Lyz’s gaze with a challenge of his own. He may not be an alpha werewolf at the moment, but he damn could pretend to be. To Lyz’s credit, she held her own for a long time, long enough that Bran began to wonder if the woman could be considered a dominant herself. Before he could make up his mind, however, Lyz sighed and looked away.

“Fine. You’re right. If the villagers need the dragon so much, they can have it.” Lyz turned to the villagers. “I’ve changed my mind. You all can keep the dragon. Sell the body to traders and collectors, and you should be able to get enough coin to repair your mine.” She glanced at the piles of rubble. “And your houses.”

An old woman walked up to Lyz and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, kind stranger. You’ve saved this village not once, but also twice. That’s right. I remember you from before. I never got your name last time. What do people call you?”

Lyz spoke a name that caused Bran to flinch in shock. Memories of a golden wolf who he had associated with the name flashed across his mind. His heart raced. No, Bran reasoned. He must have misheard her. That wasn’t her name. He was right, it turned out. He had misheard her.

Lyz hesitated before she answered. “Lyza.”

The villager nodded. “Thank you again, Lyza. We will remember your bravery.”

The villagers mingled around the dragon’s body as they made arrangements to break down and transport the dragon’s body. The smell of dragon’s blood made Bran’s nose feel tingly. Even in death, the dragon reeked of magic. Lyz watched the villagers as they worked before turning back to Bran.

“The dragon is not really dead,” she explained. “Only a dragonborn can truly kill a dragon. Still, spreading its bones across Skyrim through the trading routes should help slow down its revival.”

Bran stored this information away in his brain for later. Dragons were somewhat immortal. Also, there was a being known as a dragonborn. It must have been important if people kept bringing it up. Unfortunately, Lyz had yet to explain what a dragonborn was. It probably wouldn’t matter as long as they didn’t run into any more dragons. He really hoped that they wouldn’t run into any more dragons, but he suspected that their luck wouldn’t hold for long.

Lyz rubbed her eyes tiredly and looked up at the sky. The sky was still starry, and the moons shined brightly over their heads.

“We should get back to sleep. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. The inn should be back this way….” She started back down the road and paused at the sight of the innkeeper wailing before a pile of collapsed wood and stone.

“Oh.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyz and Bran start their work in Windhelm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being a lot longer than expected. No wonder it took so long to finish editing it. Didn't quite manage to get it as well edited as I would have liked, but it needed to get posted before it disappeared into the void. Enjoy!

Bran and Lyz left Kynesgrove as soon as dawn came. Bran watched as Lyz broke down the camp she had built behind the wreckage of the inn. Lyz occasionally glared over her shoulder like she expected him to help her even though he didn’t have hands. While she worked, Bran tried not to think about his dream from last night. Already, pieces of the dream were falling away and leaving behind mere fragments. He could only remember bits and pieces.

Golden fur. Whispered words. _Find me. Come to me._

Bran swallowed thickly and forced himself to think about something else.

In the pale light of early morning, the little village still showed signs of destruction. Rubble was still covering the roads and several of the buildings would have to be torn down and rebuilt. Despite the damage, the villagers appeared happy that they were able to harvest the dragon’s corpse as compensation. Elderly women and worn-out miners alike walked away with armfuls of scales, bones, and meat to be sold to traders and collectors. It was almost macabre seeing children dance around with hands full of dragon bits bragging about whose family was going to be the wealthiest. Lyz had eyed the villagers with wistfully and muttered about lost earning potential as they left the village. Bran had shaken his head and snorted in amusement at her.

Lyz was eager to leave Kynesgrove at first light. On their way out of the little village, Lyz bowed before a statue of a bearded man placed alongside the road and recited a short prayer. He found it odd that Lyz would stop and pray before an altar or statue every time she came across one. She even had a small one inside her cabin that she would pray before every morning. He wasn’t sure if she was doing it out of habit, or if she was more religious than she appeared. It seemed hypocritical to him that someone could be so devout, then happily murder someone the very next moment. It was just one of those things that made Lyz strange. He considered interrupting her prayer to see if he could get her to explain what she was doing. However, he didn’t get much of a chance as Lyz was already back on her feet and marching down the road before Bran could react.

The path leading north was getting rougher and the rocks were beginning to dig into Bran’s paws. He had spent so much time lying in a cabin or walking on soft soil that his paw pads had grown more sensitive. The itchiness between his toes was starting to get to him. Thankfully, the road to Windhelm was rather short and in less than an hour, they found themselves standing before the city gates.

The city gate was preceded by a stone walkway that bridged a narrow winding creek. As they crossed the walkway, Bran noted that the weather had gotten significantly colder since they had left Riften. The temperature drop seemed a bit extreme for such a short distance, but Bran reasoned that the heat radiating from the hot springs in the valley had hidden the change in climate until they had reached Windhelm. As it stood, it was not quite cold enough for snow, but there was definitely a bite to the wind. Lyz must have been feeling cold too because she pulled her scarf a little higher over her face.

Guards were stationed along the bridge. Their postures were stiff and their bodies were leaner than the guards in Riften. It was as if they had trained to become soldiers rather than city guards. However, as Bran and Lyz walked past them, the guards only spared the pair a glance before returning to their sentry duties. The bridge ended at a set of large castle doors flanked by two guards. These guards also ignored the pair as they entered the city of Windhelm.

The gateway opened into a large plaza lit by the occasional fire pit. People meandered around the plaza in thick clothes meant for cold weather. Their expressions were as solemn as the climate. An old man coughed harshly as he held out a pan and begged for coins from people who ignored him as they walked by. A dark-skinned elf made his way down one of the alleys leading out of the plaza, earning himself sneers from some of the humans who saw him pass.

Bran already disliked the city.

Lyz ignored the other people in the plaza and made her way towards the building on the far side of the plaza. The door to the building led to a small bar where a woman sat inspecting her nails.

“Come on in,” the woman said without looking up. “Take a seat by the fire and we’ll send someone to take your order.”

Lyz nodded to the woman and made her way up the stairs with Bran hurrying after her. On the second floor was an arrangement of tables and chairs. People sat at the tables and sipped alcohol and nibbled on bread. In the center was a fireplace that filled the room with a soft, warm glow.

Lyz scanned the room before her eyes zeroed in on a golden-haired man wearing a plain tunic. Lyz casually strolled across the room and lowered herself onto the chair across from the man as if she had been expecting his presence. The man, on the other hand, jumped in surprise as Lyz sat down then jumped a second time when he saw Bran standing next to him.

“Just a dog,” the man sighed in relief.

_If only_ , Bran thought.

“Was this seat taken?” Lyz asked as she poured herself a drink from the bottle resting on the table.

The man stared at her, stunned. “A-Actually, I was waiting for som--”

Lyz took a sip of the ale, frowned and placed the tankard back down. “Alcohol in Windhelm is just as bad as I remember.” She turned her gaze towards the man. “Mr. Cruel-Sea, Delvin told me you had work for me.”

Cruel-Sea looked momentarily caught off guard by her directness. Then his face sank into a frown and he leaned in closely.

“My daughter,” he said solemnly. “She was murdered a few months ago. The bastards left her laying in a puddle of her own blood.”

Lyz raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“I assume they were after her valuables,” Cruel-Sea continued. “She liked to wear too much jewelry in public. Always told her that it would be the death of her. I never thought….”

“It wasn’t one of us,” Lyz cut in.

Cruel-Sea stopped her with a raised hand. “No need to explain. I am quite familiar with your Guild’s ways.”

Bran’s ears perked up. Guild? What Guild? Lyz had never mentioned a guild.

“I found the killer after a couple weeks. A bloody Altmer at that. Can you imagine that?” The man gave a disgusted look, as if the very name of the race foiled his tongue. Apparently the man had a distaste for elves.

Lyz gazed at Cruel-Sea intently. “Tell me more. What happened to the killer?”

“Let’s just say that an eye for an eye applies in Windhelm as much as it does anywhere else.” Cruel-Sea took a deep breath and the scent of his rage dissipated slightly. “He claimed to be a member of some new guild around here. Gave me some good information before...you know.”

“You killed him before I could question him?”

“Um yes….”

Lyz was silent for a long time. Cruel-Sea squirmed in his seat uneasily as Lyz stared at him with her cold gray eyes. Bran couldn’t tell if Lyz was angry or impressed. Looking at her blank expression made him nervous too.

“If the killer is dead, what exactly am I being hired to do then?”

“I set up a deal with Delvin. You recover something I’m looking for and get to take down a rival guild in the process. I’m sure the mistress will be pleased with my aid.”

“If you think the mistress is ever pleased, then you must not have ever met her,” Lyz answered sourly. “It’s your daughter’s jewelry that you want back, right? Tell me what it looks like and where I can find it.”

“It was a silver locket. It was a family heirloom, you see. I can’t bear the thought of those monsters keeping it. I want it back. I’d start my search in the market. There’s a woman named Niranye who sells goods there. She’s a dark elf who has a shifty look to anyone with a good eye. She knows something.”

Lyz stood up suddenly, causing Cruel-Sea to nearly fall back and tip over his seat. She stood until she nearly towered over Cruel-Sea.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she stated robotically. “The Guild will remember your cooperation.”

“I.. you’re welcome?”

Bran staggered to his paws when Lyz abruptly walked away. He trotted after her as she headed back down the stairs of the inn. Bran expected her to turn towards the door, but instead she stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

She frowned. “Altmer thieves in Windhelm of all places. And sloppy ones at that. A dead body attracts the type of attention a thief really doesn’t need. Hmm….”

Absently, Lyz’s hand began stroking Bran’s back. Her magic felt ticklish against his skin.

Bran pulled away from her with a hiss. He did not wish to feel the taint of her magic on him. He did not wish to feel the taint of anyone’s magic on him again. Never again.

Lyz’s eyes widened at him. Then her face molded itself back into a blank expression. Her hand moved away from him.

“Let’s find this dark elf Cruel-Sea spoke of.” Her voice was cold. Colder than it had ever been.

Bran shivered. His son occasionally got this way. Charles was normally unexpressive, even around his own family. Bran blamed it on his job of killing disobedient and dangerous werewolves, a trying but necessary job. On particularly bad days, when Charles took the death of a werewolf badly, he became even more closed off than usual. Sometimes, not even his mate, Anna, could ease him out of his shell.

Bran looked up at Lyz’s dark expression. Her face was blank and her eyes were ice-cold. People were not born this way. That Bran was sure of. What could have happened to this woman to cause her to get this way?

Bran followed Lyz out of the inn.

* * *

“Can I help you with something?” Niranye said boredly.

They had found the dark elf in a market on the west side of Windhelm. The locals had referred to the part of the city as the Stone Quarter. The market was packed with stands set up by traders selling a variety of goods. The trader at the stand to their left was claiming to sell ‘exotic’ meats. As far as Bran was concerned, the stack of cliff racer meat smelled like regular elk meat dyed a different color. Strangely enough, when Bran and Lyz had arrived, the trader had started shouting about selling exotic dog food.

Niranye was standing behind a stall selling weapons and pieces of armor. She had an exasperated look on her face and seemed none too impressed by Lyz’s lukewarm expression.

Lyz leaned in close. “Fjotli.”

The intimidation tactic must have failed because Niranye simply tilted her head and tapped her chin as if she were thinking deeply. “Fjotli...Fjotli.... Hmm. Where have I heard that name?” The dark elf’s mouth fell open in exaggerated surprise. “Ah, that was the girl who got murdered not too long ago. What a tragedy.”

“Drop the act,” Lyz bit out. “I know you were involved.”

“How dare you,” Niranye exclaimed in outrage. “Accusing me of participating in a murder? I would do no such thing!”

Lie. Bran could almost taste the falsity on her breath and he made that clear when he growled at her. Lyz glanced down at Bran and gave a small smile of appreciation. Then she looked back at Niranye and gave her a dark look.

“Let’s make something clear. You may be a good merchant, but you are a really bad liar. I’m beginning to lose my patience. You have two seconds to start squealing before I sic Fang on you.”

Lyz gestured at Bran who grinned at Niranye with all of his big teeth. The elf shot a look at Bran’s fangs and shuddered.

“Y-You wouldn’t do that here in the middle of the city with all the guards watching.” Niranye tried to sound confident, but her shaky voice betrayed her.

Lyz narrowed her eyes, then nodded to Bran. Bran walked around the stall and cornered the dark elf. He didn’t bother to hide how dangerous he was this time. Niranye pressed herself against the stall and shrieked in terror. Some of the other shoppers were alerted by the commotion and glanced in their direction. The guards started making their way towards them.

“So be it then,” Lyz said to Niranye rather cheerfully.

“N-Now just a moment.” Niranye held up her hands between her and Bran as if that would be enough to stop a hungry werewolf. “No need to resort to violence. Let’s think about this, you know, discuss it like two rational women.”

“What’s going on here?” A guard demanded when he reached them. His hand rested on his sword as his eyes fell on Bran.

Lyz’s face blossomed into an innocent smile as she responded brightly, “Nothing, sir. My dog here just likes to greet people and just wanted a pat on the head. Sometimes people get a little spooked by his friendliness. Isn’t that right, Niranye?”

Niranye looked between the guards and Lyz. Stuck between a hard place and a rock it seemed.

“O-Of course,” the elf finally responded. She slowly reached down and gingerly patted Bran on the head. “A-Aren’t you s-such a g-good boy.”

To Bran’s credit, he wagged his tail and gave Niranye another grin.

The guard looked mildly disturbed. “Just try not to disrupt the rest of the shoppers again.”

“Yes, sir,” Lyz answered obediently. She watched as the guard walked away. Once he was out of earshot, she turned back to Niranye. “Talk. Now.”

“I-I had no choice,” Niranye answered desperately, fake confidence now abandoned. “These men are crazy. I could be killed if they find out I talked.”

“You _will_ be killed if you even think about acting against the Guild again. Who are they? Where are they hiding?”

“They are a group of thieves who call themselves the Summerset Shadows. Their leader is the worst of the lot. Linwe steals valuables off of corpses.”

“He kills people for their valuables?”

“No, no. He prefers to dig up corpses in the Hall of the Dead to collect their jewelry. He even stole the locket off of that poor girl’s body.”

_So he wasn’t killing his victims_ , Bran thought. _If he didn’t kill Fjotli, how did she die?_

“If Linwe does the dirty work, then what is your role in this?”

“I used to work as a fence for the Thieves’ Guild a long time ago. When Linwe and his band moved into Windhelm, he said that I would have to fence for them or else he would kill me.”

Bran tilted his head. Thieves’ Guild?

“So where are they?”

Niranye hesitated then smiled. “How about this? If your Guild promises to forgive my actions and renew my fencing services with them, I will be more than happy to tell you where the Summerset Shadows are hiding.”

Lyz paused for a moment as she considered the offer then she nodded her head. “Go on.”

Niranye gave Lyz directions to the thieves’ hideout. Lyz listened carefully and took notes in an old journal she kept in her pocket. When the dark elf was done with her explanation, Lyz put the journal away in her pocket. Before Bran and Lyz left, however, Lyz paused to ask one more question.

“One last question. Fjotli’s father didn’t give too many details about the manner of his daughter’s death. How did the Summerset Shadows kill her?”

A trick question, Bran realized. Designed to see if Niranye was lying. She had already told them that the thieves didn’t kill Fjotli.

Niranye shook her head. “I know that you think that I had something to do with her death, but that could not be further from the truth.”

“That’s the same lie you told me earlier,” Lyz said darkly.

“It’s the truth,” Niranye insisted, trying not to look too hard at Bran. “There’s some psycho known as the Butcher who has been killing women in Windhelm for the past few months. The guards are offering a pretty high bounty for his head.”

“Money, you said?” Lyz’s voice sounded too hopeful for Bran’s liking and he nipped her side. “Ouch! What was that for?”

Bran simply narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance.

“Yes,” Niranye continued undiscouraged. “It was a pretty high reward too. They must be getting desperate. Ahem. It appears that I have answered all of your questions, right? No need to hang around any longer?”

Lyz’s eyes lingered on the woman. “I suppose. Pleasure doing business with you, Niranye.”

* * *

Niranye’s information led the pair to a place called Uttering Hills Cave. It wasn’t too far away from Windhelm. It was simply a short walk following a creek up a hill towards where the Summerset Shadows had holed themselves up.

During the walk there, Lyz had looked down at Bran and said, “You’ve been real quiet lately. Is there something on your mind?”

Bran hadn’t responded. Instead he had chosen to play his role as the dumb dog. To his surprise, Lyz had stopped in the middle of the path and _really_ looked at him.

“What are you?” She had said. “Sometimes you seem like a normal dog. But other times I feel like there is someone actually intelligent in that head of yours. Are you a daedra?”

Bran had remained silent.

In the end, Lyz had pulled her scarf back over her mouth and continued walking as if nothing had even happened. That hadn’t stopped Bran from noticing that the stiffness had returned to her posture. But she wasn’t running away either.

It seemed that Lyz hadn’t quite decided what Bran was. She had clearly seen werewolves before. There were plenty of them in the Silver Hand’s hideout, including the one that had tried to eat her. Although it appeared that werewolves in Skyrim were significantly different from the ones on Earth. More different than Bran probably realized. That most likely explained her confusion.

Despite her clear suspicions towards him, Bran had no intention of revealing his true identity. Not yet, at least. Although Bran had to admit, he couldn’t tell her even if he had wanted to. He wasn’t exactly in the right condition to have that conversation with her. He still couldn’t Change.

For now, he would have to keep Lyz guessing.

Besides the matter of her suspicion, Bran found it interesting that she was able to tell that he was quieter than normal. Granted, wolves couldn’t talk. But she must have learned his pattern of behavior well enough to notice the difference. Lyz was turning out to be a highly observant person. Unfortunately for her, Bran was even more observant than she was. He had been listening carefully to her conversation with Niranye and had noticed how the two women spoke of “The Guild.” They had called it the Thieves’ Guild. Did this make Lyz a thief?

Bran’s thoughts had been interrupted when they reached the cave Niranye had told them about. In an instant, Lyz dropped to a crouch and listened carefully. There was a faint chattering sound just down the path from where the pair stood. Voices drifted across the wind along with the smell of smoke. Bran counted at least three voices. There must be a camp nearby.

Lyz tilted her head as she thought. Bran considered the gesture adorably wolf-like. A stray thought drifted into his mind and he wondered what Lyz would look like as a wolf. He shook the thought out of his mind, irritated that he was letting himself get distracted. Lyz appeared to have made up her mind and kneeled down. She looked at her hand and muttered a word so quietly that Bran’s wolf ears barely caught it.

“Bow.”

In an instant, magic curled itself around Lyz’s hand and formed into an ethereal bow. The bow appeared so suddenly that Bran wasn’t able to suppress his flinch. Lyz’s eyes turned towards him and she chuckled in amusement.

“Conjuration magic,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Makes carrying weapons a lot easier.” She frowned. “You don’t have any armor and we’re about to walk into a fight. Here.”

Lyz reached towards him with a hand oozing foreign magic. Bran recoiled away from her with a snarl. There was a moment of silence. Lyz looked at her hand then back at Bran. Her smile fell from her face.

“Fine.”

Lyz looked away from him and continued up the path without another word.

Bran stared after her as she walked away from him. He had made a mistake. His goal had been to get her to trust him, not push her away. Yet, every time he felt her magic wrap him in its peppery feeling, he remembered what the witches had done to his former mate. He still felt the familiar burn of her death inside his chest.

True, he had allowed Lyz to use the healing spell on him back in Kynesgrove. But that was an exception. The heat of the battle and his desperation to find her had clouded any concern he would have felt at the time. It was a small lapse in judgement. This time was different. He was not suffering from the pain of a dragon’s icy magic. The only pain that came to mind now was the pain he had experienced as his mate bond was severed.

No. He could not let Lyz use magic on him again. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Bran hurried his way up the rest of the hill until he caught up with Lyz. Lyz didn’t acknowledge his presence. Her eyes remained locked on the three elves left to guard the door leading into Uttering Hills Cave. When she was close enough to the elves, Lyz raised her bow and began pulling back the string. An ethereal blue arrow appeared on the string between Lyz’s fingers and hummed with magic. With practiced ease, she released the arrow and let it fly. The arrow zipped through the air like a bolt of lightning and buried itself into the back of one of the elves. The elf dropped like a log, catching the other two elves’ attention in the process.

Golden eyes met gray ones. One of the elves lifted a war axe and charged towards Lyz with a battle cry. But before the elf could reach her, Bran materialized out of the cover of a bush and sank his teeth into him. He had caught the elf off-guard and made quick work of him. By the time Bran finished the elf off, Lyz had already taken care of the third elf.

Lyz sank down to her knees before the elves and searched their pockets. She collected coins, jewels and other valuables from the bodies and shoved them into her pocket. Bran was about to grumble in disapproval when she fished out an old key.

“There we go,” Lyz said in quiet triumph.

She inserted the key into the shabby door blocking the entrance to the cave and turned it until the lock clicked. The door creaked open slowly. Before entering the dark tunnel, Lyz cast another spell and a blue light slid over her body and vanished.

A warding spell, Bran surmised. In his world, witches and wizards alike used these spells to protect themselves from their enemies’ magic. Bran was certain that Lyz was of the same type, though he wasn’t sure which variety it was. Some were good against specific types of magic, while other warding spells could be used for other purposes.

Without looking back to make sure Bran was still following, Lyz disappeared into the cave. She was ignoring him. With a sigh, Bran went in after her.

The inside of the cave was wet and only slightly warmer than the outside. A cold breeze eased its way through the cave and chilled the stone walls enough to allow small piles of snow to form against the rocks. The cave weaved its way away from the surface then opened up into a small cavern. Summerset Shadow members wandered the cavern, their dark uniforms keeping them well hidden in the darkness. Most of them held their positions, however, either keeping watch or boredly waiting for something to happen.

_Good_ , Bran thought. That meant that the commotion outside hadn’t alerted them.

Lyz studied the thieves with the intensity of a stalking cat. Her eyes darted left and right, possibly counting the number of thieves in her head. Then she abandoned the magical bow with a flick of her wrist and exchanged them for the pair of daggers at her waist. She looked at Bran for the first time since entering the cave and gestured for him to wait before proceeding deeper into the cavern.

Bran did not like how cold and emotionless her face had been when she had looked at him.

Lyz snuck up to the first thief and dispatched him with practiced ease. Then she did the same to the next two. The final one reacted fast enough to swing his sword at Lyz as she dug her daggers into his back. But the sword caught on the magic coating her body and bounced off her body harmlessly. A ward against physical attacks rather than magical.

Bran whined when Lyz made her way towards one of the corridors leading deeper into the cavern and out of his line of sight. Lyz glanced over her shoulder at him and again motioned for him to stay. With the obedience level of any wolf, Bran ignored the command and padded up to her side.

“What are you doing?” Lyz glared at him. “I told you to wait.”

Bran pinned his ears back and growled stubbornly.

“You’re kidding me. All you have to do is sit in one spot and wait until I get back. Is that too difficult to understand?”

Bran stared at her like a dumb animal.

Lyz dug her fingers into her hood and groaned. “Fine. Fine. Don’t wait. Just one dog-looking whatever-you-are against a horde of armed thugs. Definitely a great idea.”

Little did she know just how extensive Bran’s fighting experience was. In a display of affected confidence, Bran took a couple steps ahead then paused. He looked back over his shoulder and waved one paw in a walking motion.

Lyz put her hands on her hips. “You’re telling me to come? Really? Have you forgotten who was leading just a moment ago?”

Bran gave her a toothy grin and led the way.

They dispatched more of the guild’s members along the way. Eventually, the path led them to a spiraling stairway leading deeper into the cave. Bran’s ears faintly caught the sound of several voices clustered at the bottom of the staircase, though he was sure that Lyz wouldn’t be able to hear them. Instead of allowing her to go first, he made his way down the stairway ahead of her, his steps quick but silent. He paused when he reached the bottom of the stairs. There were three more thieves left to deal with and one of them looked like the leader. Bran glanced back at Lyz and waited for her to make a decision.

Lyz glanced around the corner and studied their enemies carefully. Then she responded by summoning her bow and planting an arrow in one of the thieves’ chest.

Bran rolled his eyes. So much for strategizing. He joined the fray as the fight broke out.

The leader, Linwe, put up a good fight. Unlike the previous elves who appeared to be simple thieves and pickpockets with no fighting experience, Linwe fought with confidence and determination. He ducked and weaved around arrows then danced around Bran as the wolf closed in on him. He flashed a dagger at Bran that nicked the wolf on the shoulder. But in the end, Bran was the more experienced fighter and the guild’s leader fell before the wolf’s jaws.

Once Linwe was down, Lyz set about searching for Fjotli’s locket. Like the ones guarding the cave entrance, the minor thieves didn’t have much on them. Mostly small valuables that they had likely stolen from someone else. The silver locket, on the other hand, was in Linwe’s possession. Lyz found it around Linwe’s neck and she yanked it off his body without a second thought. All they would have to do now is return the locket to Fjotli’s father.

Bran was preparing to leave when he noticed that Lyz was still bent over the thief leader’s body. She had already begun yanking off the elf’s armor and inspecting his weapons to see if anything was valuable. She studied his belongings with the intensity of an expert appraiser who had just spotted gold. She sniffed a piece of armor then shoved it into her bag while muttering to herself. Something about depreciation? It was such a sight that Bran stopped to stare.

Lyz looked up from her appraising and tilted her head at him. “What?”

Bran glanced at the pile of armor and shook his head in disapproval.

Lyz had the audacity to look offended. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am not letting these high quality goods go to waste. You’ll thank me later.”

Bran rolled his eyes. Yep. She was an odd woman indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter is expected to be ready next weekend.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran comes up with a way to bond with Lyz. Lyz is mildly disturbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another short chapter that I haphazardly hacked off the end of the last chapter to save a little time. Almost forgot that I intended to post it lol.

Once Lyz was done with her loot hoarding, they set off on the way back to Windhelm. Now that they had recovered Fjotli’s locket, they needed to return the locket to the girl’s father and collect their reward.

They walked back in silence. Lyz’s back clanked with her newfound loot. The noise was beginning to irritate Bran. The optimistic side of him hoped that Lyz would sell the pilfered belongings as soon as they got back to Windhelm. But he had seen the pile of valuables that she kept at the back of her cabin. Jewels, smelted metals, and old pieces of clothing littered that forgotten corner of the room. There was too much stuff in that pile to have been formed in just a couple weeks’ time.

Bran shuttered. He would give her a week to take care of the goods she took from the Summerset Shadows before Bran would find a way to make them disappear himself. He bet she wouldn’t even notice if they went missing.

Lyz walked ahead of him, as if he wasn’t even there. His actions earlier in the day were still upsetting her and Lyz was doing a bad job at hiding it. For the life of him, Bran couldn’t understand why it had bothered her so much. She clearly wasn’t too fond of company and he couldn’t conceive of why his reaction to her had upset her so much.

It was only when they were approaching the city gate that Lyz chose to break the silence.

“You let Niranye pet you,” she said flatly.

Bran looked up at her. Odd of her to make that observation after ignoring him for so long. He blinked, not understanding where the statement was coming from.

“You let Niranye pet you,” she repeated. “But you don’t like me petting you.”

Bran was even further confused. It seemed unusual that the woman he had only known for about two weeks would even care how he had acted towards the dark elf when they had questioned her earlier. In fact, it was strange that she expected him to be okay with her casting her spells on him. She could have been trying to hurt him for all he knew.

He tilted his head in thought. Was she… jealous?

He wanted to tell Lyz that it wasn’t her touch that bothered him but her magic. Yet his wolf mouth did not allow him to form the words he needed to speak, and he doubted that admitting his aversion to her magic would make things any better anyway.

Lyz didn’t say anything more as they entered the city. Her face had returned to its steely expression and she went back to ignoring him. Seemingly, there was nothing more to say.

Her pack full of loot swung back and forth against her back like a pendulum.

They found Torsten Cruel-Sea in the same inn where they had held their meeting. He was sipping a drink, though not the same one from before. This one had a richer, darker scent to it. Bran inhaled deeply. It wasn’t wine, but he could still tell that it was made from some plant. Sassafras maybe?

Cruel-Sea looked at them hopefully when they arrived. “Well? Did you -- ahem -- take care of that business I told you about?”

Lyz responded by holding out the silver locket for Cruel-Sea to see. The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise before his face settled into a sad smile.

“It pains me to see this locket again,” he said as he took the necklace. “But at least I know that it is no longer in the hands of those thieves. Tell Delvin that if his Guild desires any support in Windhelm in the future to come contact me. I may no longer be a part of the sailor’s family, but I still have my connections.”

Cruel-Sea swept a thumb over the locket gently before storing it in his pocket. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a pouch containing several gold coins. “Your payment. It’s not much, but I expect our future business will help make up for that.”

Lyz nodded in appreciation and made her way back down the stairs, coin pouch in hand. When she reached the first level, she walked up to one of the innkeepers and placed the pouch on the counter.

“Room for two. We will be staying for a while.”

The innkeeper counted the coins in the pouch then returned the change. She slid a key across the table for Lyz to take. Lyz grabbed the key and led Bran to their designated room. This room was larger than the last one they had stayed in. This time around, Bran had his own bed beside Lyz’s. Furthermore, their room included a small table pressed against a corner.

Lyz immediately settled down at the table with a tired sigh. She dumped her loot on the ground and pulled out a piece of parchment and some ink. Bran padded towards her to see what she was doing, but she stopped him with a raised finger.

“One moment please.”

Using a quill, she scribbled a short message onto the parchment then folded it up. She slipped the letter into her pocket and put her ink away.

Instead of turning to Bran, Lyz continued to sit in the chair staring into space. She didn’t say anything, and her face still showed that tired expression. Her lips tipped downward as if she was lost in a negative thought or memory.

After a while, the silence began to annoy Bran and he woofed demandingly. Her eyes shot to him and her face fell into a cool scowl. Bran didn’t like the expression. It sucked away what little warmth was in the woman’s face, if there was any to begin with. She held the werewolf’s gaze for longer than what must have been comfortable for her, then turned away with a scoff.

“That’s right,” she said. “We still need to find your owner.”

Bran didn’t like her tone. She spat out the words as if she was eager to get rid of him. As if he were trash. If Bran were a younger, dumber wolf, he would have taken offense. But he fit neither of the two descriptors. He was an old and powerful wolf that dealt with difficult people for a living. He handled new or troubled wolves with patience so they wouldn’t have to be killed. Still, the Alpha in him would not and could not let her attitude fly. So, Bran did what Bran did best.

He stormed out of the room. Lyz jumped in surprise and shouted after him, but he ignored her. He couldn’t use words, so his options were limited. But he believed that he had found something that would get Lyz to budge.

He marched over to the bulletin board hanging inside the inn and snatched one of the posters off the wall. The innkeeper cursed at him -- something having to do with the male offspring of a female dog-- and may have also thrown a tankard at him. Bran ignored the innkeeper too and marched back into Lyz’s room with the poster still in his mouth.

He slammed the door behind him and glared at Lyz who was now up on her feet and staring at him with an angry, but wary expression.

“What has gotten into you?” She hissed.

Bran wished that he could ask her the same thing, but he had found a better alternative. He let the poster fall out of his mouth and drift onto the floor. Lyz’s eyes followed the descent of the piece of paper. Her eyes scanned the words and she frowned.

“A bounty? You brought me a bounty?” Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the words. “Generous reward offered by the jarl’s steward?!”

Bran could’ve sworn that Lyz began to drool like a starved man eyeing a piece of meat. She reached down to pick up the bounty only for Bran to snatch it off the ground and step away. Lyz furrowed her eyebrows and reached for the bounty again. Bran simply leapt aside, the sheet of paper fluttering out of Lyz’s reach.

“Gimme that!”

Bran and Lyz fought over the bounty like two children fighting over a remote control. Lyz was fast, but Bran was faster. Despite the woman’s quick reflexes, she couldn’t keep up with Bran’s flighty movements. Eventually, she lost her patience and leaned against the wall. She panted heavily, exhausted by both the fight with the Summerset Shadows today and from chasing Bran around the room.

“Damn you, you flea-ridden, tongue-chewing, bipolar creature on four legs.” She growled like a wolf that had its prey stolen out from under her.

Bran tilted his head in confusion. _Tongue-chewing?_

“Just give me the bounty like the good boy you are.”

Bran looked at her thoughtfully. Then he slowly eased towards Lyz.

She smiled. “Good boy.”

She reached for the paper only for Bran to snatch it away from her hand again. Lyz gave him a deadly look.

“You know how I said that you were a good boy? Well, I lied. You suck.”

Bran dropped the paper on the ground and carefully stepped towards Lyz. The woman glanced at the bounty then back at the werewolf standing in the way. Bran padded forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Lyz. From this close, he could feel the faint stutter of her breath. Hear her heart speed up as he stood in front of her. Smell the peppery scent of her magic and something sweet underneath. He almost leaned in closer to get another whiff. Instead, he moved away towards the bookcase and grabbed a random book. Then he carried the book back over to Lyz and plopped it in her lap. She looked down at the book’s cover.

“A Tragedy in Black?” Lyz read. “You want me to read it?”

Bran settled down on the ground and looked at her expectedly. Lyz raised an eyebrow at him but started reading. As she read, Bran closed his eyes and listened as Lyz read the storybook. From the story, he learned about creatures known as daedra, dark gems capable of storing souls, and a magic known as “conjuration.” While Lyz was still reading the story, Bran stood up and placed his head on Lyz’s lap. Lyz tensed up, but continued reading the book, the wolf’s strange behavior obviously confusing her.

When Lyz finished reading the last part of the story, she glanced down at the book and back at Bran. A frightened look passed across her face before disappearing behind a blank mask. It was so quick that he had almost missed it. Why had she been frightened? Was it his closeness or the story? Or both?

Slowly, so as not to frighten her further, he reached over and licked her hand. His intention had been to thank her for the story, but the action only caused her to stiffen further. Bran’s ear twitched in annoyance as he reached for the bounty and handed it to her.

Lyz’s eyes scanned over the bounty, absorbing all the information on the page. While she read, Bran settled beside her and looked at her encouragingly. When she was done reading, he woofed eagerly and wagged his tail. Lyz stared at him, trying to interpret his meaning.

“You want to hunt down the Butcher?” She guessed.

Bran gave an affirmative woof.

“Why is that?”

Bran nudged his muzzle under her hand.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of apology? Very well. I accept your apology.”

Bran wagged his tail happily.

Lyz folded up the bounty and put it in her pack.

“In that case, we will need to get plenty of rest tonight. We will most likely be wandering around Windhelm all day tomorrow. I also have a letter I need to send off in the morning.”

Lyz made her way towards the door, likely getting dinner for the two of them. But she paused as she opened the door.

“Hey, pup.”

Bran glanced up at her.

“Are you a daedra?”

Her tone had changed so suddenly that Bran nearly stood up in alarm. She was facing away from him so he couldn’t see her expression. But he could have sworn her voice had gotten darker when she asked the question. They stood in silence. Then as suddenly as the question had left her lips, Lyz stepped out of the room, leaving Bran staring after her in confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 is going to be another long one. I will most likely be able to post it next weekend if editing doesn't take too long. If I do decide to make any major changes, the next chapter will come sometime after the Wednesday after next. See you later!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyz and Bran begin their investigation into the murders plaguing Windhelm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 just got longer and longer the more I edited it. So, guess who took the original chapter and split it into more chapters just so she could keep up with her self-imposed deadlines? That's right. This lady right here. Enjoy the first part of the original chapter while I finish the rest of it!

The next morning brought the sound of chatter from traders and other travelers eating or leaving the inn. Many of the inns spread throughout Skyrim served as temporary rest stops for people on the move, and Candlehearth Hall was no exception.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Bran rolled over and covered his ears with his paws. As usual, Lyz woke up earlier than he did and was pacing around the room with a nervous energy. Bran wondered grouchily if everyone in Skyrim was this loud in the morning, or if he had lucked out with an especially noisy one. The only good news was that the noise had interrupted his nightmares before they could get into full swing. The bad news was that the lack of sleep left him feeling cranky and ill-tempered.

Not feeling like a morning wolf today, Bran rolled onto his back and growled grumpily.

“You’re awake,” Lyz said.

_I am now_ , Bran grumbled in his head. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes with a paw while Lyz continued to pace.

“We are going to need to start early today if we want to get enough done by tonight. First, I want to confirm that the bounty is still active. Then, I would like to interview anyone who may have witnessed any of the murders. After that, ….”

Lyz rattled on a list of tasks for the day. Bran wasn’t feeling eager to get up. Lately, he found himself unable to get enough sleep. And what little sleep he managed to get was plagued with nightmares. In his dreams, dark hands stained with black magic clawed at his skin. They dug and tore the man from the wolf’s skin and shackled the half-empty creature left behind as their slave. Leah’s voice screamed in his mind as they fed on his life force.

It wasn’t the first time Bran had experienced vivid nightmares, but that didn’t mean he had ever gotten used to them.

Bran squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. The Beast in him wasn’t present, yet Bran still struggled for control. Being away from his pack and his home for so long was beginning to take a toll on him. He focused on the sounds of Lyz’s voice and the ambience of the inn as he tried to center himself. He breathed deeply for several counts before Lyz placed a bowl of food in front of him. His eyes peeled open as the rich scent of jerky filled his nostrils. The scent was familiar, and he realized that it was the same jerky she had fed him when he had first awoken inside her cabin.

“Horker loaf,” Lyz explained. “Not my favorite meat, but it lasts a long time. Great for travel. We will be on our feet all day long, so we will be eating a light meal this morning and save the rest of our food for the end of the day.”

Bran chewed the jerky slowly, letting the flavors of the meat push away the memory of his nightmare. If he wanted to get home, he would have to coax Lyz into cooperating. And the only way he could do that is if he approached this job with a level head. If he could demonstrate his usefulness for her work and eliminate her wariness of him, Lyz would be more inclined to keep him around and pay attention to what he tried to tell her. It wasn’t as good as having a true pack member, one he could speak to mentally, but she would have to do.

Hopefully, he could accomplish this without revealing too much about himself. Bran’s instincts told him that he needed to keep his identity a secret, and Bran had lived long enough to know not to ignore his gut feelings. He wasn’t sure if it was something Lyz had said or done that had set it off, but he had a feeling that letting Lyz know too much about him now would be a very bad idea.

Bran took a deep breath, pretending to savor the scent of the jerky. Lyz’s scent drifted into his nose. _Not a witch._

When the pair finished eating, they packed up their belongings and headed out of the room. But before they could leave, they were stopped by the inn’s owner.

“Wait,” the woman said. “Are you the one who took the bounty for the Butcher?”

Several heads lifted and swiveled towards the three at the mention of the serial killer’s nickname.

Lyz glanced around warily. “Um, yeah. You can have it if you want it back.”

The older woman shook her head. “No. There is no need. You are not in trouble. Actually, I was hoping that you had decided to take the job. There was an incident involving one of my waitresses last night.”

Lyz’s eyes widened. “What? What happened?”

The innkeeper looked around nervously. “Not here. Follow me.”

The innkeeper led the pair up to a small room hidden on the second floor. Based on the small bed in the corner that was saturated in the innkeeper’s scent, Bran guessed that this was where the woman slept.

After closing the door, the innkeeper turned back to Lyz and Bran. “Call me Elda. I own Candlehearth Inn.”

Lyz gave a short bow. “Call me Lyz. I appreciate you and your workers’ hospitality.”

Elda dismissed Lyz’s politeness with a wave of her hand. “There is no need for that. This is Windhelm. I deal with rude clientele all the time. Just don’t break anything if you wish to thank me. But that is not what we’re here for. I brought you here so that I could tell you that one of my waitresses was murdered last night.”

Bran stiffened. They had only just decided to accept the bounty and already another victim had been found.

“Already?” Lyz breathed. “Where did this happen? How?”

Elda looked down at her hands. “It was right after she left work last night. She ends her shift after the night rush. I kept telling her that it wasn’t safe for her to walk home alone at night, but she never listened. Not even when news of the butcher spread.”

“I need more information. The bounty didn’t include a sketch of the killer’s face.”

“That’s because no one knows what the killer looks like. He got her in the cemetery. It’s just down the road from the inn. I tried to take a look, but the guards wouldn’t let me through. They should still be there right now.”

Lyz nodded. “Thank you for the information. If they are still in the cemetery, we need to hurry. It won’t be long before they move the body to the Hall of the Dead.”

Lyz started for the door, only to be stopped when Elda grabbed her arm.

“Please.” Elda nearly shouted, then took a deep breath. “Please find whoever did this and stop them. This city can’t afford to be terrorized by a murderer. Not when things are already this bad.”

Lyz gazed at her quietly. “I will. Let’s go, pup.”

With that, the pair left the inn.

The road passing the inn led straight to the cemetery. Unexpectedly, Windhelm buried its dead in the center of the city. Bran considered it unusual and somewhat unsanitary, though he imagined that only the wealthiest citizens were buried in the cemetery. With the war, Windhelm was bound to have so many dead bodies to deal with that the poorer residents would most likely be burned. The last victim had just been a waitress. That meant that they would need to hurry.

Fortunately, it appeared that the last victim hadn’t been moved yet. The cemetery was packed full of people when they arrived. A crowd was gathered around one of the grave sites, people jostling against each other in an effort to get a look. Scared and angry voices chattered amongst themselves while the guards attempted to regain control of the situation.

A guard stopped Lyz and Bran when they attempted to approach the grave.

“Hold it there,” the guard ordered menacingly. “Keep your distance.”

“It’s alright,” Lyz said calmly. “We accepted the bounty to hunt down the Butcher. Can you tell us what happened here?”

The guard’s eyes widened in shock. “You accepted the bounty? Do you know anything about the Butcher?” When Lyz just stared at him silently, the guard shook his head and continued. “Another girl was killed last night. It was Susanna, from Candlehearth Inn.”

Lyz grunted. “So, I’ve heard. Do you know anything about her?”

“She served drinks to me at the inn, but I can’t say I knew her. You would have to ask someone else.”

“What about the other victims? What can you tell me about them?”

“Susanna’s the third that we know of. The Butcher’s victims are always the same: young woman, killed at night, body torn up.”

Bran snorted. Three bodies and the guards still hadn’t caught the killer? It was clear that the city either didn’t care or didn’t know how to deal with the killer. Either possibility suggested bad things about Windhelm.

Hearing his snort, Lyz shot a glare in Bran’s direction. “If there have been so many deaths, why aren’t the guards taking things more seriously? Why aren’t they doing more patrols or holding a curfew?”

“We’re stretched thin as it is with how awful the war is right now. As unpleasant as the murders are, we simply don’t have the time to spend on this.”

Lyz’s eyes sparkled and she glanced down at Bran with a smile. “How about we help you investigate these murders? Then the guards won’t have to stretch themselves so thin to protect everyone.”

The guard rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Damn adventurers. Always looking for a quick buck,” he muttered under his breath. “If you are so keen on putting yourself in danger, ask some of these gawkers if they saw anything useful. I have another body to go examine.”

With that, the guard walked away, leaving the pair to start their investigation. They questioned the people gathered in the cemetery. Most of them offered little to no information on the murder, most of them showing up to gawk at the carnage. Though one of the gawkers mentioned that they noticed that Susanna’s coin purse was still on the body. Whoever had attacked her wasn’t interested in money.

They continue to sift through the crowd, looking for more witness testimony. They continued to turn up only useless information, if any information at all. Finally, they found a woman huddled at the edge of the crowd. The woman was dressed in torn rags and glanced side-to-side with a wild look in her eyes. Lyz approached the woman without greeting her.

“Did you see what happened to Susanna?”

“I heard her scream and came running,” the woman rasped, apparently eager to talk. “But she was already… like this… when I got here. I tried to tell the guards what happened, but none of them listened to me.”

The woman fidgeted nervously and didn’t appear to be quite right. Bran could understand why the guards wouldn’t take her word seriously.

“Is that all?” Lyz leaned in close.

The woman’s eyes widened in fear. “That’s all I saw. I-I swear!”

The ragged woman scuttled off before Lyz could ask her anything else.

Lyz sighed and pinched her nose in frustration. “I’m not that scary.”

Bran stared at her. Dark hood. Cold eyes. Monotone voice. Nope. Nothing scary here.

Lyz glanced down at Bran. “Did _you_ see anything interesting?”

Bran shook his head. In all honesty, he had been hoping to see the body. Maybe he could catch a scent or spot something that the guards had missed.

Lyz sighed again in defeat and made her way back to the guard.

“I spoke to some of the bystanders. None of them really saw anything.”

The guard cursed under his breath. “As usual, no one sees anything, and the bastard gets away.”

“However,” Lyz continued. “There might be more to this if you let me see the body. Questioning some of the guards would be nice too.”

The guard gave her a sour look. “Look, _friend_.” He spat out the word like a sour grape. “If you think that this is an opportunity to gawk at the body or show off to the locals, be my guest. But I’m not going to let you go around fiddling with guard business. You have to get the steward’s permission first. If he says so, then we’ll talk.”

“So be it,” Lyz murmured.

Lyz and Bran stepped away from the crowd and headed away from the cemetery. The steward, Lyz explained, served the jarl of Windhelm and would most likely be found inside the jarl’s castle. The castle was conveniently just down the road from the cemetery.

They were halfway to the castle when a commotion broke out ahead of them. There was a shout followed by a woman’s scream. Without glancing in Bran’s direction, Lyz broke into a sprint in the direction of the scream. Bran caught up to her as she took a turn into one of the alleys.

Two armored men had a woman pinned against a wall. Tears streamed down the woman’s dark face as the two men shouted in her face.

“Thought that we wouldn’t notice you, elf?” The first man’s mouth nearly frothed with his anger. “We’re here to teach you a lesson!”

“Hey!”

The two men’s heads swiveled at the sound of Lyz’s voice. Lyz’s arms were crossed against her chest. Her hood cast a shadow over her face. “Don’t you two have something better to do than to rough up young ladies?”

“Who are you?” One of the men, the one wearing a horned helmet, spat at her. “Can’t you see we are busy?”

The other man dug his fingers into the scared woman’s hair with a laugh, causing the woman to let out a fearful cry.

“Enough,” Lyz said calmly. “I have questions for you two. The woman will walk free.”

The man holding the woman scoffed. “Or else what? You’re going to defend this elf scum? Don’t make me laugh.” He nodded towards his friend. “Teach her a lesson.”

The first man advanced towards Lyz with killer intent. He lunged at Lyz suddenly, hoping to catch her off guard. Lyz ducked away from his grasping hand and slashed at his arm with the dagger that appeared in her hand.

The helmeted thug stumbled away from her with a grin. He touched the shallow cut on his arm and whistled at the blood coating his fingers. “Not bad. Unfortunately, not enough to stop both of us.”

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Lyz said softly. “Let the woman go, and we won’t have to take this any further.”

The man laughed and pulled out his mace. He swung at Lyz’s head in a coordinated and powerful motion. Bran danced out of their way as Lyz stepped back to avoid the swing. It was clear that this man was an experienced fighter. Instead of relying purely on strength like Bran had seen bandits do, this one was careful and tried to exploit any openings. This man was a trained killer. But Lyz was Lyz.

Lyz let out an exasperated sigh after dodging another blow. She reached forward and grabbed the front side of the man’s helmet. The thug smirked as if he was expecting the move and lowered his head, as if to ram her with the curved horns attached to his helmet.

Fire erupted from Lyz’s hand and coated the surface of the helmet, turning it bright red. The man screamed and pulled away from Lyz. His hands reached towards the helmet, then pulled away when it only burned his palms.

The other thug shouted in surprise. He released the elf woman and took out his war axe. But before he could reach Lyz, Bran intercepted him by sinking his teeth into the man’s leg. His teeth didn’t manage to pierce the thick armor, but it did manage to distract the thug. The man shook his leg furiously while he tried to dislodge Bran. Eventually, Bran lost his grip after earning a well-placed kick to the nose. The thug snarled at Bran, then turned back to Lyz only to freeze in horror.

Lyz’s magic swirled around her like a swarm of angry bees. Deep purple magic burst from her hands and engulfed her arms in its eerie light. At some point during the fight, her hood had fallen off her head to reveal her expressionless face and flickering irises. She looked demonic.

The thug Bran had been fighting dropped his weapon and stumbled away in terror. Even Bran took a step back. Lyz’s magic spontaneously extinguished.

“Wait! I need to ask you some questions -- and he’s gone.”

The thug had already disappeared back into the streets without a glance back in their direction. Bran looked at Lyz, wondering why she wasn’t chasing him.

“What? You don’t expect me, a mage of immense power, to chase an unarmed man through the streets of Windhelm and shoot fireballs at him. I wouldn’t make it three steps before someone freaked out and called the guards on me. Why didn’t you chase him?”

Bran would have slapped his forehead if he had hands. _You didn’t tell me to chase him, idiot. Was I supposed to read your mind?_

“Don’t give me that stink eye! Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of dog creature? I thought dogs were supposed to be noble and obedient. You just couldn’t be a good boy and follow simple directions. Instead, I get stuck with the sassy one. This is why I can’t keep pets. Always so --”

Someone cleared their throat.

Lyz glanced back at the elf woman who still sat against the wall where the thugs had dumped her. Her red eyes stared at Lyz with deep concern as she glanced between the mage and Bran.

_Oops_ , Bran thought. They probably should have picked a better time and place to have their argument.

Lyz looked away from the woman as she pulled her hood back up. But not before Bran caught the faint pink tinge spreading on her cheeks. Sane people didn’t argue with their pets. Especially not in front of witnesses.

“Um, do you two need some privacy?” The dark elf asked. “This seems to be a bad time.”

“No,” Lyz said, her voice flat and not betraying a hint of embarrassment. “That was nothing. We just need to ask those two men some questions.”

“Um….” The dark elf’s eyes drifted to the side. Bran followed the woman’s gaze to find the other thug lying on the ground unmoving.

Lyz stared at the body silently. “We need to ask _you_ some questions. We’re hunting the Butcher.”

The dark elf’s eyes widened, then she frowned. “Have you gone mad? Why would you want to put yourself in a mess like that? I know that they are offering a reward for the Butcher’s capture, but no amount of money would convince me to go after someone that dangerous.”

Lyz tilted her head and hummed. “So, the Butcher is targeting dark elves too?”

“Actually,” the woman scratched her head. “No. So far, he has only gone after humans. It’s rather strange, but none of my business.”

“Do you know anything else about the Butcher?”

“Not really. Since he doesn’t bother anyone in the Grey Quarter, I never paid much attention to the rumors. You’ll have to ask that annoying old woman, Viola Giordano, for more information about the Butcher. She’s been posting flyers everywhere.”

_Viola Giordano_ , Bran thought. He would have to remember that name in case it became useful in the future.

The dark elf stood up and started to leave, but Lyz grabbed her arm in a gentle, yet firm grip. “One last thing. Those men who approached you were not locals. They were hired thugs. People only pay for that type of muscle when someone really upsets them. Who did you anger and what did you do to warrant sending hitmen after you?”

The dark elf bit her lip and looked away. “I don’t know what you mean. The nord men in Windhelm have always been nasty towards dark elves. I was just an easy target.”

Bran growled lowly. She was lying.

Lyz smiled. “He’s not too fond of liars. Why don’t we skip the crap and go to the part where you start telling the truth?” Her grip on the woman’s arm tightened.

“Okay! Okay! I may have acquired some goods from a wealthy noble without them knowing. It’s not a big deal. She has plenty of other valuables left to flaunt. Now let me go please. You’re hurting my arm.”

Lyz considered the woman briefly, then released her. “Acquired some valuables, you say? Nice.”

The dark elf gave Lyz a strange look, then recognition dawned on her. “Wait. That armor. You’re from the Guild? I thought you looked familiar. I’ve heard so many things about you and the others.”

Bran shot the pair a strange look.

“While I would love to share stories about our incredible exploits, I actually have places to be,” Lyz said blandly. “Goodbye.”

Lyz abruptly turned and started walking away, leaving Bran to trot after her.

“One last thing!”

Lyz glanced over her shoulder.

“My cousin, Revyn, runs Sadri’s Used Wares in the Grey Quarter. He’s been looking for new suppliers and would be interested in speaking to one of your guild’s associates. Do you think you could speak to him later?”

Lyz thought carefully. “Perhaps. After my other work here is done.”

The dark elf smiled and bowed her head. “Thank you very much. Hope to see you soon.” The woman scurried more than walked out of the alley.

Bran would have found the woman’s movements strange, except Lyz’s hand ghosted over his back almost absentmindedly as Lyz watched the elf retreat. Bran made sure to hold very, very still until Lyz caught herself and pulled her hand away. A small step, but a step indeed.

Lyz shook her head as she left the alley with Bran at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this week's chapter. The next chapter is expected to be a bit shorter than this one. I expect it to be finished around next Saturday, so there will be a bit of a wait until then. See you then!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Lyz collect clues on the Butcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 10. I meant to upload this chapter last night, but I got home so late that I went to bed instead. Enjoy!

The city opened up into a second plaza. Several large fire pits were scattered around the plaza and lit the stone walls with their eerie glow. The jarl’s palace rested at one end of the plaza. Its tall, dark facade gave the palace a rather imposing vibe. As did the statue-like guards posted along every level of the building. Compared to the rest of Windhelm, the palace was heavily defended. With the Civil War raging across Skyrim, the jarl was most likely worried about being targeted by assassins, or worse, invasions. Bran didn’t fully understand what had started the Civil War, but the whispers he’d overheard in Windhelm suggested that the jarl played a key role in it.

The guards silently watched the pair as they crossed the plaza and entered the castle. Their icy stares unnerved Bran.

The inside of the castle was a little anticlimactic. The exterior bespoke of the castle’s age and importance. The stone walls were worn and decorated with various wreaths and banners depicting the city’s symbol, a bear’s head. The inside of the castle, however, was sparsely decorated as if it had changed hands too many times in too little time to have any personal touches. A few banners dangled from the walls; their colors dulled by age. A large, barren feast table sat in the center of the main hall. At the back of the main hall rested a large throne. A bearded man stood stoically beside the empty throne. He wore fancy, yet utilitarian clothing.

Lyz approached the man and gave him a short bow. “Steward Jorleif. I came to speak to you about the bounty you posted. The one asking for the capture of the Butcher.”

The steward sighed tiredly and pinched his nose. “These are difficult times indeed, when men stalk their brethren like hungry beasts. The only people who have come forward to hunt this ‘Butcher’ so far were young and inexperienced boys seeking glory. I turned them all down. No point in adding to the pile of dead bodies.”

Lyz ignored Jorleif’s dismissive words. “I am neither young nor inexperienced. I’ve hunted worse monsters than serial killers and survived. The Butcher would be no challenge.”

The steward grimaced. “Normally, I would ask for proof of your expertise before allowing you to accept the bounty. But my men are stretched thin as it is. If you offer your aid, I will gladly accept. No proof required.”

Lyz smiled. “Excellent. I have already interviewed a couple people. But I will need to take a look at Susanna’s body if I am to gather any more information. The guards told me that I would need your permission to do so.”

“Very well.” The steward handed Lyz a token. “Show this to the guards if they give you trouble. They should be more than happy to answer your questions and help in your investigation once they see this. I’m happy to lend a hand as much as I can as well.” 

Steward Jorleif grabbed Lyz’s arm before she could walk away. Bran saw the instinctive urge to attack roll through Lyz’s back before she settled. She didn’t like being grabbed.

“One last thing. All of the Butcher’s latest victims have been women who were roughly in your age group. If the Butcher knows that you are tracking him, he may come after you next. I hope that you will be careful.”

Lyz slowly pulled her arm out of Jorleif’s grasp. “I will. As always.”

With the token in hand, the two of them returned to the cemetery and spoke to the guards. In the time it had taken them to speak to the steward then head back, the guards had managed to clear out most of the crowd. Although, a few people still lingered in the cemetery. Oddly enough, one of the people who had admitted to not knowing anything when Lyz had interviewed him earlier in the day was now standing on top of a crate, offering to give a firsthand account of the ‘terrible murder’ in exchange for ten septims. Bran rolled his eyes. Apparently, integrity wasn’t a major value in Windhelm.

Lyz flashed the steward’s token at the same guard they had spoken to earlier and informed him that the steward had granted her permission to continue investigating the murders. The guard simply shrugged.

“Very well. Go take a look at the body. See what you’re getting yourself into. Helgrid’s already taken the body to the Hall of the Dead to prepare it for burial. She’s a little… crazy, but if she knows anything about anything, it’s dead bodies.” The guard tipped his chin towards one corner of the cemetery. “I also noticed a trail of blood leading out of the cemetery. It disappears after a few feet, but maybe that dog of yours will have an easier time following it.”

Lyz started heading off in the direction that the guard had gestured towards, but Bran stopped her before she could get too far. He tapped at her leg with a paw until she looked down. When he had her attention, he turned towards the Hall of the Dead and gestured with his paw.

Lyz tilted her head like a confused puppy. “You want to see the body first? Ah, I see. You want to see if you can catch the killer’s scent on Susanna. Make it easier to track him. Great idea.”

Bran felt pleased with himself. It looked like Lyz was finally beginning to understand his cues. He led the way into the Hall of the Dead with Lyz trailing after him.

The Hall of the Dead lived up to its spooky name. The inside of the hall felt ancient. The walls were carved with mysterious patterns that felt older than Bran himself. It appeared that the Hall of the Dead had been built inside an ancient ruin with the city constructed above it. The tunnels led deeper and deeper underground and led into corridors lined with dead bodies and cobwebs. Bran noticed out of the corner of his eye that Lyz shied away from the walls and watched every corpse with a wary eye. It struck Bran that Lyz’s behavior was unusually cautious. But he had no way of asking her about it, so he left her alone.

They eventually found a robed woman tending to a body in a deeper part of the hall. The wax candles dimly lit the room and cast eerie shadows across the woman’s face. When they approached her, the woman merely glanced at them and continued her inspection of the corpse before her.

“Large diagonal cut from the left shoulder all the way to…”

“Find anything interesting?” Lyz asked impatiently. Lyz peered up at one of the stacks of embalmed corpses and stepped back.

“Well, she’s dead,” Helgrid answered blandly.

Lyz glared at her. “Thanks. I never would have guessed. Why not tell me something I don’t know?”

Helgrid’s eyebrows rose in false surprise. “Ohhh. Yes. The body. The only unusual thing is the shape of the cuts. They look like they were made with ancient Nord embalming tools. I don’t know who in Windhelm would even have something like that on them.” She paused. “Other than me, of course.”

Bran and Lyz both gave the woman a wary look when she suddenly let out a cackle.

“You common folk are always so easy to mess with. Consider it your punishment for intruding on my hall without permission. I would kick you out, but that token on your chest tells me that the steward sent you. Hurry up and ask your questions so I can get back to my work.”

Lyz sighed. “Did you… find anything else?”

“Nope. Just have to finish preparing the body for burial.”

“How helpful of you,” Lyz said dryly. “If you have a moment, we would like to inspect the body ourselves before we leave.”

Helgrim waved a hand at them. “Suit yourself. Just don’t take too long.”

The woman hobbled off and went to work on a different body.

Bran and Lyz turned their attention to the body laid across the table. He winced. Bran had to admit Susanna’s body was in pretty bad condition.

The body had been stripped naked, either by the Butcher or by Helgrim. Deep slash marks covered both legs and encircled her neck. A chunk of her abdomen had been torn out. It looked as if the Butcher had been trying to harvest her organs but had only managed to collect a small piece. The sight was incredibly disturbing, even to Bran. Still, he wasn’t going to be much help with finding this serial killer if he shied away now. Bran went to work.

Bran had plenty of experience lifting useful information from dead bodies. It came with being a werewolf for many centuries. For a werewolf, their nose was their best tool and their strongest weapon.

It had only taken Bran a couple days to notice the subtle differences in the scents of humans from Earth versus those in Tamriel. Earth’s humans tended to smell more similar to each other. Sure, the variety of skin products, perfumes and laundry detergents they used would affect their scents. But a human always smelled like a human.

Tamriel’s humans tended to be more diverse. He noticed that nords smelled distinctly different from imperials and redguards. Almost as if they were derived from a completely different group of hominids entirely. Bran wasn’t sure if it was genetic or magical.

Susanna had the deep scent of snow and ice underlying all the other scents covering her body. It told him that she was a nord. But there was another scent on her body. It reminded him of fire and ash with a wisp of some dark magic. It was odd enough that Bran did another pass over the body.

“Can we leave yet?” Lyz grumbled while Bran sniffed the body.

Bran paused his work and shot a look at Lyz. She looked incredibly uncomfortable. She kept eyeing the dead bodies stored along the walls as if she were expecting one of them to hop up and attack them. A stray gust of wind rustled a piece of clothing on one of the corpses and caused Lyz to shudder. Strange. She didn’t seem to have a problem with dead bodies yesterday. Bran wondered what was on her mind.

Bran shook his head. That was a question for later. For now, he needed to focus on inspecting the body. When he had gleaned all the information he could from the body, he walked up to Lyz and nodded his head.

“Let’s go,” she said before heading back out.

When they stepped out of the Hall of the Dead, Lyz let out a loud sigh of relief. Bran nudged her hand with his nose, causing her to jump. She looked down at his worried expression, then looked away.

“I’m fine,” she said levelly.

Liar, Bran thought. But he chose not to confront her. It wouldn’t get him anywhere and right now he wanted to focus on tracking the killer while the scent was still fresh on his mind. He made his way over to where the blood trail the guard had noticed began and started following the tracks. Lyz followed behind him silently.

As the guard had said, the blood trail ended shortly after it had begun. But thanks to Bran’s sharp nose, he was able to continue following the track even after it had disappeared from his eyes. The blood trail led them out of the cemetery and into a small neighborhood filled with large homes. The scent led them past several homes before taking an abrupt turn towards one of the houses. Bran’s nose led them all the way up to the door, then he stopped.

Bran looked back at Lyz and back at the door. Lyz tested the door, but it was locked.

“Locked,” she noted. “And with a high-quality lock too. I can pick the lock, but it might take a while. I will need someone to keep watch.”

Bran gave her a suspicious look.

“What? Lockpicking is a useful hobby to have.”

Hobby my furry butt, Bran thought with a frown. His disbelief must have been apparent on his face because Lyz huffed and waved a hand at him dismissively.

“Whatever. Just keep watch.”

Bran rolled his eyes and settled down just outside the gate to the house. Lyz immediately got to work on the lock, digging at the lock with an old dagger and a small lockpick. She twisted the lockpick left and right, cursing each time the lockpick broke and she had to replace it with a new one. While she was picking the lock, Bran kept his ears and eyes peeled for any unexpected company. As luck would have it, seconds later, a woman turned the corner and started heading down the road towards the house.

The woman was dressed in fine clothes, finer than those of the steward. Her hair was combed back into a tight bun and she walked with a refined gait that could only be found in a noble. Despite her obvious wealth, dark circles sat underneath her eyes as if she hadn’t slept in days.

Bran immediately got up and rushed towards the woman. He stood up on his hind legs and licked her face like an excited dog that had just seen its owner. The woman yelped in surprise and fell backwards on her bum. She quickly regained her senses, however, and slapped Bran away.

“Enough! You’ll ruin my clothes. Damn mutt!”

She stood up with a huff and stomped past Bran, giving the wolf another swat when he tried to block her path. As she passed the house that Lyz was working on, she paused and gazed at the house with a sad look on her face. Then she shuffled past the house and entered her own house next door. Bran padded back over to the house and glanced around. Lyz had disappeared from sight. Yet Bran could still smell her. He began sniffing around for her when an invisible hand fell on his shoulder and caused him to jump.

“Gotcha,” Lyz said from seemingly nowhere. “Invisibility potions always come in handy in situations such as these.”

Bran gave the empty space where her voice had come from a dubious look before he resumed his guard duty.

After another minute, Lyz finally cracked the lock on the door and pushed it open. The invisibility potion had only lasted seconds and Bran had jumped a second time when she reappeared next to him.

Lyz smiled and put her lockpicking tools back into her pocket. She motioned for Bran to follow her in before disappearing inside. Bran looked around before slinking inside and shutting the door behind them.

As soon as they entered the house, Bran could smell the faint stench of death. Lyz, whose nose wasn’t as keen as his was, took in the entire house with a careful eye.

“It looks like no one else is here,” she whispered. “Still, I would prefer if we looked around quickly then left before anyone arrived. You check the first floor and I’ll check the second floor.”

Lyz raced up the stairs without another word. Bran let his gaze travel around the first level. The house was mostly empty, any valuables and usable furniture having already been removed. Cobwebs had already begun to form on the ceiling and in dark corners of the house. He let his nose guide him around the room.

His nose first led him to a splatter of blood in a corner of the room. A chest was placed in front of the blood spatter, though the chest seemed too clean to have been there when the blood spatter was made. In fact, it looked like the chest had been shoved there recently judging by the faint scratch marks on the floor and the lack of stains on the chest. Bran nosed the chest open and looked inside. Several pieces of paper sat inside. There were around a dozen copies of a poster warning locals about the Butcher, a serial killer accused of murdering several young women in Windhelm. Bran frowned. He dug through the pieces of paper before finding a journal buried at the bottom of the chest.

The journal bore the same odor as the blood trail that led them to this house. The same odor he had smelled among the crowd gathered in the cemetery.

_Hmm_. Bran set the journal aside and gave a loud woof.

Lyz came rushing down the stairs and looked around with a snarl. A wicked looking dagger rested in one hand. When she didn’t see any threats, she turned to Bran with a growl.

“You’d think that you would understand that this situation would call for a bit of quiet, don’t you?”

Bran ignored her words and nudged the journal he had placed on the ground. Lyz’s face immediately lost its frown, and she walked over and picked up the journal.

“You found this just now?”

Bran sneezed.

Lyz opened the journal and flipped through the pages. Her eyebrows furrowed, then her lips slowly pulled back into an angry snarl as she read.

“ _Necromancer_ ,” she hissed darkly, eyes colder than steel. “The Butcher is a necromancer.”

Bran took a step back. Lyz was angrier than he had ever seen her. It was as if the very word had summoned a side of her that he had never seen before.

Lyz set the journal aside and looked around. “This must be _its_ hiding spot. There are probably more clues lying around. Let’s keep looking.”

They went around the room, turning over objects and looking for more evidence. Bran didn’t find much, but eventually Lyz called him over with a quiet whistle. He walked over to where she crouched in front of a small shelf. Immediately, the stench of death grew stronger. The shelf was covered with more wanted posters about the Butcher. Bran wasn’t sure what had caught Lyz’s attention until she slipped her hand underneath one of the stacks of paper and pulled out a strange amulet.

The strange amulet was crafted from silver and contained a black band. Imbedded in the silver was a jade skull that seemed to grin evilly at Bran. The amulet stank of an awful magic.

“Think this belongs to anyone?” Lyz gave the amulet a look of disgust and slid it into her pouch. “It appears necromantic, but I’m not entirely sure. Whatever it is, it must belong to the Butcher which brings us one step closer to finding him.”

Bran frowned. He was certain now that the death odor was getting stronger. But it wasn’t the amulet nor was it the shelf. He sniffed around the corner trying to figure out where the awful smell was coming from, but his nose kept bringing him back to a wardrobe a couple feet away. He nudged the wardrobe open but didn’t see anything.

_Odd_ , Bran thought.

Lyz stood up and glanced at the wardrobe too. She checked the sides and leaned against the backside of the open wardrobe.

“Does something about this wardrobe interest you, pup? Eep!”

The backside of the wardrobe suddenly gave way. Lyz let out a shriek as she fell with it. The wardrobe gave a loud boom as it landed on the ground and scattered dust everywhere.

Bran sneezed as the dust cleared. The wolf eased his way through the dust cloud and nudged Lyz’s side.

“I’m alright,” Lyz said shakily. “Just got caught off guard.”

_So much for keeping quiet._

Bran sniffed in amusement only to gag when a horrible stench filled his nose. The wardrobe had given way to a tiny hidden room behind the wall. Scattered across the floor were bones and scraps of meat from the Butcher’s various victims. The guard had said there were only three victims, but the number of bones suggested many more. In the back of the room sat an alter covered in body parts and stinking of the same magic as the amulet.

Lyz recoiled at the sight and scrambled to her feet. She immediately turned away from the horrifying scene and darted out of the house. Bran chased after her, surprised by her actions. He paused as he exited the house. For a human, Lyz ran surprisingly fast and she had disappeared by the time he had reached the door. He padded around the area looking for her.

He finally caught up to her outside the neighborhood, hidden behind a cluster of bushes. The sound of Lyz retching filled his ears and he carefully pushed his way through the bushes to check on her.

Lyz ignored him while she gasped in between retches. Her eyes had lost their coldness and were instead wide with shock and horror. Bran leaned against her leg and whined comfortingly. She paused before burying a hand in his scruff and holding him tightly as if he was a lifeline. Bran simply closed his eyes and continued to whine softly. Eventually, the scent of fear faded from Lyz and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“I hate necromancers,” she groaned softly.

Bran frowned as his mind connected the dots. Realization dawned on him, and he settled against Lyz’s leg. They had something in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is really short for some reason and I haven't really read over the rough draft yet. I may end up combining it with chapter 12 to balance it out. Anyway, expect another weekend update for chapter 11!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Lyz continue their investigation and make a few discoveries along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than I expected. Good news is that I have the next chapter mostly written out, so it shouldn't take too long to finish.

It took a while longer for Lyz to calm down. She had stopped gagging, but her heart was still beating a little faster than normal. In the end, Bran had led her back to Candlehearth Inn to take a break. They had eaten a late lunch together in silence. Her hands shook as she ate, and her eyes had a faraway look as if she were remembering a horrible memory. Even after their meal, Lyz appeared mildly disturbed by what they had discovered. Despite the fact that she still looked a little sick, she had insisted that they report their findings to the steward immediately. Bran had simply raised an eyebrow at her but chose to accompany her to the jarl’s castle.

They found the steward inside the jarl’s castle. The steward looked at them in surprise when they walked in.

“That was quick. Did you find anything?”

“Yes, actually,” Lyz responded in a deceptively level voice. “But first, can you tell me anything about this?”

Lyz handed him one of the fliers.

Steward Jorleif looked over the flier and groaned. “You’ve been talking to Viola Giordano, haven’t you? She has been posting those ridiculous fliers all over the city, and someone keeps taking them down. Ask her about it if you want an earful.”

“What about this amulet?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I would take this to Calixto at the House of Curiosities. The man likes to collect trinkets such as these. He might know something about it. Might even give you a bit of _gold_ for it.”

Lyz’s eyes glittered. “In that case, I better get going.”

Lyz practically skipped out of the castle. She was making a beeline for the market when Bran blocked her path. The wolf gave her an accusatory glare and snatched the amulet out of her hand.

“What the -- what did I do this time?”

Bran shook his head and jerked his head at her coin purse.

Lyz’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Me? Sell a piece of evidence in exchange for riches? I would never.”

Bran growled at her. _Oh, no you don’t._

“Okay. Maybe I was thinking that, but I was going to ask him to tell us what it is first. It’s not like we will need the amulet anymore once we get that information.”

Bran narrowed his eyes at her, then whirled around and marched off with the amulet still in his mouth.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“We are finding Viola Giordano before you have a chance to disappear with our evidence,” Bran wanted to say. But since wolf vocal cords aren’t equipped for speech, he simply sniffed and kept walking. Lyz hurried after him, looking down at the amulet worriedly as if she thought that he was about to swallow it. He might have to, with how coin-hungry the woman was. He slapped away her hand when she tried to grab the amulet.

They wandered around Windhelm while they -- well, Bran really -- searched for Viola. Their search led them to a darker part of the city. This region appeared to be the slums. Old buildings were crowded too closely together. Unlike the stone buildings in the rest of Windhelm, many of the houses were composed of whatever cheap material was available to the inhabitants. Bran saw many buildings that were built from old wood. Bran dreaded the thought of what would happen if a fire broke out.

Dark-skinned elves with fire-red eyes meandered down the narrow streets. Some of them glanced at Lyz’s face and darted into the alleyways. Others glared after her and whispered cruel things outside of earshot. Bran studied and watched them carefully. However, none of them appeared to match Viola’s description. At least until they heard shouting further down the road. They quickened their pace to catch up with the source of the din.

Towards the end of the slum was a tan-skinned woman with gray hair. She was human, unlike the elves who called this district their homes, and wore clothes that could have placed her as either upper or middle-class. Her gray hair hung to her shoulders and she had applied what appeared to be dark eye shadow on her face.

The woman stood in the middle of the road and squawked at random passersby about the “dreaded Butcher.” Lyz gave the woman a funny look and pinched her nose.

“That must be Viola. Great.”

Bran shook the amulet at her, then jerked his head towards Viola. Lyz let out an exasperated sigh and walked towards Viola.

“Excuse me,” Lyz said with Bran’s encouragement. “Do you happen to be Viola?”

“Be on the lookout,” the woman said, ignoring Lyz’s question. “The Butcher could be around any corner!”

She shoved a flyer into Lyz’s hand. The flyer had a rather melodramatic description of the Butcher along with a terrible sketch of what could have been either a human or a pig.

“Yep,” Lyz muttered. “You must be the one. I saw one of your flyers earlier today. What can you tell me about this ‘Butcher?’”

Viola’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and words spilled from her mouth in an endless stream. “I’ve been following him for months.” Viola paused. “Well, not actually following. _Trying_ to find him. The guards won’t help. The people won’t help. I’m the only one who is taking this seriously.” 

“If it’s any help, I found this journal in the Butcher’s hideout.”

Lyz held up the journal. Viola’s eyes rose and she snatched the journal out of Lyz’s hand. She rifled through the pages, humming and tsking as she read the pages.

“It’s Wuunferth,” Viola concluded. “I had always suspected him. There had been rumors swirling about him for years. But he’s dangerous, I tell you! I wouldn’t approach him. They call him ‘the Unliving’ for a reason. Take this information straight to the steward. He will know what to do.”

Viola paused and she looked towards Bran with an odd look. “Say, that dog of yours looks a bit wild. Where did you get him?”

“‘The Unliving,’ you say?” Lyz said quietly, paying Viola’s question no heed. She reached forward and grabbed the journal out of Viola’s hands. “Thank you for your aid. You will be remembered for your aid later.”

Lyz stormed off, ignoring Viola’s shocked cries. Bran hurried after him.

Bran let out a sigh of relief as they put distance between themselves and Viola. The old busybody was beginning to see through his pack magic, and she came too close to realizing that he wasn’t just Lyz’s pet. Granted, his pack magic wasn’t as strong in this world as it had been back home, but he hadn’t expected a random old lady to break the Look-Not-At-Me trick so easily. Bran huffed. That nosy lady needed to mind her own busy before she got Bran in trouble.

“Damn necromancers,” Lyz hissed, stomping down the road. “They’ll take all the good things in life and twist them into something awful.”

Sounded like she was speaking from personal experience, Bran thought. He moved close to her and placed his nose on her hand. In an instant, Lyz froze and looked down at her hand. Her eyes met Bran’s and she -- looked away and kept walking. Bran stared at the woman. From one moment to the next, she could go from being warm to cold. Close to distant. Open to closed. Bran hadn’t yet figured out a pattern in the woman’s behavior and figured that it would be a while more before he did. But for a second, it felt as if he had almost gotten somewhere.

Lyz stomped all the way to the jarl’s castle and barged in. One of the guards stationed beside the door stumbled aside as she blazed through the door and stared after her in shock. Bran had assumed that she was going to speak to the steward. But instead, she took a sharp turn and headed down one of the hallways. Bran looked warily at the guard before proceeding, but the man had simply resumed his position beside the door. He must have recognized Lyz from the last couple of visits and decided she wasn’t a threat.

Lyz led him all the way into a chamber where a robed man stood bent over a table with strange blue symbols engraved onto its surface. As Bran watched, a pink crystal placed on the table appeared to dissolve and caused the symbols to light up with magic.

The man turned around when Lyz entered. He was an elderly man who wore robes that marked him as the court wizard. Bran didn’t know much about court wizards, but what little he had heard made it sound like a highly sought out position that many mages aspired towards. Wuunferth, for all of his prestige and importance, looked rather unamused. The mage sighed and set down the piece of armor he had been working on.

“Whatever you’ve heard I can do is probably true,” he said preemptively as if he was expecting business.

“Is that so?” Lyz said accusingly. “Because I’ve heard that you, Wuunferth the _Unliving_ , practice necromancy.”

The man gaped at her. “I beg your pardon? Necromancy?! I am a member of the College of Winterhold, in good standing with the new Archmage. The College has not allowed necromancy for hundreds of years!”

Wuunferth was so angry that spittle frothed at the corner of his mouth. Bran got in-between Lyz and the court wizard, ready to defend her if needed. He took in a breath to growl at the court wizard and paused.

Lyz lifted her chin and looked down at him. “Then what is this journal?” She tossed the worn book at him. “We found your amulet too.” She gestured at the amulet Bran still held.

The man looked befuddled. “My... what? I don’t have a journal. And this is not my amulet.”

“Enough,” Lyz growled darkly. “I have had enough of you necromancers for the last time.”

Lyz’s magic began to fill the room. It crackled against her skin and bounced across the floor as it formed into a bolt of lightning between her fingers. Wuunferth hissed in annoyance and began prepping his magic to meet hers.

_Wait no_ , Bran said mentally. He needed to stop them. He whirled around and before Lyz could launch her spell, he tackled her to the ground. The bolt of lightning she had been preparing shot out of her hand, bounced off the ceiling and exploded against the table behind Wuunferth. The lightning bolt must not have reacted well with the magic stored inside the enchanting table because the table exploded with a loud boom.

Wuunferth held up his ward with one hand while he aimed his other hand at Lyz, but Bran halted the attack by standing over Lyz and giving the court wizard a violent, hungry look. The mage immediately took his eyes off of Lyz and focused on Bran instead.

The room fell silent.

Lyz looked up at him in shock which quickly morphed into a look of betrayal. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bran interrupted her by dropping the amulet straight into her mouth. She gagged in surprise and coughed out the amulet. Bran looked at Wuunferth, then shook his head at Lyz. She stared into his eyes and tried to understand what he was trying to tell her. Her eyes widened.

“It’s not him.”

Bran whimpered in apology and stepped off her. He turned back to Wuunferth and gave a low growl when he took a step towards Lyz as she was getting up.

“You need to get yourself and your mutt under control,” the court mage snarled.

Lyz shot him a look before lowering her eyes towards Bran. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. For now.” Wuunferth wrongly assumed the apology was meant for him. He looked down at the amulet held in Lyz’s hand. “That is the Necromancer’s Amulet, of legend.”

“The Necromancer’s Amulet?” Lyz queried. “I’ve heard of it. I thought it was destroyed a long time ago.”

Wuunferth nodded. “You are half-right. That one is not the original. It is a knock-off that simply mimics the original, though it still bears enough power to be dangerous in the wrong hands. That means that necromancy is at the heart of this mess.”

Lyz was silent for a moment. “I found a hidden chamber inside one of the abandoned houses in the Valunstrad district. It looked like the Butcher had been collecting body parts from the women they killed. Do you think they were planning to use the amulet for some kind of ritual?”

“Undoubtedly. The amulet would have powered their spell and allowed them to perform a ritual that would normally require multiple necromancers, or at least a larger sacrifice. I imagine that now that they have lost possession of the amulet, they are going to be pretty bent on getting it back.” The court wizard blinked at Lyz. “By the way, how did you find this secret chamber to begin with? I thought that house had been off-limits since the previous owner died.”

“I have my ways,” Lyz answered vaguely. “What matters is that we know where the Butcher’s secret hideout is, but we still don’t know who the Butcher is.”

That was true. Bran had considered laying a trap for the Butcher inside the abandoned house, but then they would have to fight the Butcher on their own turf without knowing in advance who they were and what they were capable of. If the wrong person happened to walk into the house while they waited, things could end disastrously. They had already wrongly accused one person. He didn’t want to repeat that mistake again.

Wuunferth narrowed his eyes at Lyz. “I’m glad that your _ways_ have brought you some success, as questionable as they are. The information that you have is useful but isn’t quite enough to tell us who our serial killer is.”

Lyz grunted. “So, what do we do now? I have the amulet, but I still don’t know who it belongs to. I could try asking some of the merchants in Windhelm if they recognize the amulet. But knowing what it is now, I’m not sure if I want to risk it.”

Wuunferth tapped his chin. “No. That won’t be necessary. I’ve been noting a pattern in the killings. Now that we know that they are tied to a necromantic ritual, I think I know when the next killing might occur.” Wuunferth thought for a moment. “You have the killer’s amulet. And I assume that amulet is important to whatever ritual he has planned. He will want it back. We can use that against him. But we will need a few things first.”

Lyz smiled wickedly as she listened carefully to Wuunferth’s plan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trap is laid, and Bran and Lyz make another step in their new partnership with each other.

Lyz sat on top of a barrel in the middle of the Stone Quarter. It was past dark, and all the stalls were empty. Everyone had gone home, even the guards. The only person in sight was Lyz. She hummed quietly to herself while she waited for Wuunferth. She had her hood down, allowing her blonde hair to sway in the breeze. Her gray eyes sparkled with a youthful innocence that she normally hid from the world. The Necromancer’s Amulet swung between her fingers.

Bran had hidden himself behind one of the empty stalls. His gray coat helped him blend in with the stone-covered ground and darkly lit market. He’d been waiting for over an hour and his legs were beginning to cramp, but he was still as focused as he was when he had first moved to his hiding spot. Any good hunt required a bounty of patience.

Wuunferth was hidden across from him behind a crate. He had cast a spell that quieted his movements and made him harder to see. The spell’s similarity to the effects of pack magic had alarmed Bran at first, but Lyz had reassured him that it was an illusion spell that most of the better trained mages were capable of casting. If Lyz wasn’t bothered by it, that meant that it didn’t need to bother Bran. Still, the wolf made sure to keep Wuunferth within the corner of his eye.

Bran let his mind wander as he waited. Look at him, he mused. Only a couple weeks in Skyrim and he already found himself hunting a serial killer. He wondered what his sons would have thought of him. An old wolf who rarely concerned himself with human matters now teaming up with two human mages whom he barely knew. Being the dreadful brats that they were, Bran was sure they would have teased him for it. He ignored the ache the thought brought to his chest and told himself to stop worrying. He would get back home if it was the last thing he did.

After what must have been a couple of hours, a shadow appeared at the corner of the market. At first, Bran thought that it was just another merchant returning for some forgotten belonging that they had left at one of their stalls, but then the wind changed directions and blew the person’s scent towards Bran. The wolf narrowed his eyes. The Butcher.

Bran turned his head towards Wuunferth, but the court mage had still not noticed their target’s arrival. But Lyz did. He saw it in the subtle stiffening of her posture. The way her eyes drifted over Bran’s hiding spot before wandering back towards the night sky.

Bran’s stomach began to roil as he watched the Butcher take notice of Lyz and the amulet in her hand. The shadow crept towards Lyz stealthily and maneuvered itself around the woman until it stood behind Lyz. Moonlight glinted off the pointed edge of a knife as the Butcher pulled out his dagger.

Bran exploded out from his hiding spot and charged towards the Butcher. Lyz ducked down and rolled away as the dagger whizzed through the air where her neck had been. The Butcher let out a curse and sent a wave of magic in the direction of the pair. Bran ducked expecting to feel the burn of magic on his pelt, but instead the magic slithered past him like a snake and gathered on the ground behind him. He turned around and stared in horror as a gray portal formed beside him.

Dark, hardened claws reached out from the other end of the portal and dragged a strange creature through the round opening. An amalgamation of volcanic rock, fire and lava levitated above the ground as the portal closed below it. The fiery creature had a feminine figure but was otherwise inhuman.

Its long horns turned to reveal a crown of flames where its eyes should have been. The creature hissed at Bran and sent a fireball zipping towards him. The fireball was intercepted by a blast of electricity that dispersed the fire before it could hit Bran.

“Go,” Wuunferth shouted as the Butcher fled the marketplace. “Don’t let him escape. I’ll deal with the atronach.”

Bran and Lyz raced down the streets, the darkness making it difficult to keep up with the fleeing killer. They pursued the Butcher through the Stone Quarter and into the adjacent section of the city. An unsuspecting woman was the unfortunate victim of Lyz’s shoulder as she was shoved out of their way. The basket the woman had been carrying flew out of her hands, spilling apples across the ground. The woman screamed angry things at the pair, but they paid her no heed as they attempted to catch up with their target.

The Butcher abruptly changed his path and darted into the Valunstrad neighborhood. Bran went around the corner just in time to catch sight of the Butcher disappearing inside his hideout. Bran raced towards the front door but discovered that the Butcher had locked it behind him.

Lyz caught up to him and placed her hands against the door. “Locked,” she growled and nudged Bran out of the way. “Watch out.”

She blasted the doors open with a wave of magic and motioned for Bran to enter first. The wolf slipped inside the house and Lyz followed right behind him.

The door opened up into silence. The room seemed as quiet and deserted as it had been the first time they had entered the house. It immediately set Bran on edge.

Suddenly, an old shelf lifted itself off the ground and threw itself at the pair. Lyz ducked just in time to miss getting hit by the shelf as it smashed into the wall. The Butcher rolled out of his hiding spot behind a corner and sent another shelf flying their way with a wave of his hand.

“And people wonder why they outlawed levitation magic,” Lyz muttered as her magic pooled in her hands.

She gestured with her fingers and a blast of ice roared out of her palm and coated the ground in front of the Butcher. The killer’s feet slipped out from under him and sent him sliding into a crate with a crash. Bran charged in after the Butcher. He wanted to subdue the killer before he could harm Lyz. But before Bran could reach him, the Butcher surprised Bran with another wave of magic that sent the werewolf flying to the other side of the room.

Lyz shouted and a small dagger appeared in her hand. She chucked the dagger through the air and nailed the Butcher in the shoulder. He cursed loudly and dropped the spell he was preparing so he could wiggle the knife out of his shoulder and heal the bleeding wound. While the Butcher was distracted, Bran rushed in and harassed him with nips to the legs before darting out of reach.

Bran and Lyz danced around the Butcher and peppered him with a combination of magic, daggers, and bites. The Butcher was slowly weakening as Bran looked for an opening that would allow him to incapacitate the man without killing him. Eventually, the Butcher lured Bran into striking at his leg with his claws and before Bran could pull away, nailed him with a blast of magic that set every nerve in his body on fire and caused him to collapse to the ground. The move also distracted Lyz long enough for a levitating bucket to catch her on the side of the head and knock her out.

The Butcher paused as he took in the collapsed pair and let out a loud laugh. The fight hadn’t lasted as long as he had expected, hadn’t been as desperate of a last stand as he had expected. He must have been dealing with amateurs. True professionals would not have been beaten so easily. The serial killer let out a deep chuckle.

“You really thought catching me would be that easy,” the voice mocked. “Thought that if you caught ‘the Butcher’ you’d get what? Prestige? Honor? Money?”

The Butcher chuckled again as he sauntered towards Lyz’s unconscious form. Bran let out an angry snarl and tried to stand, but the paralysis spell kept his muscles locked in place.

“I’ll teach you a lesson for stealing my amulet,” the Butcher sneered at Lyz. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get killed in a way that leaves enough of your body useful. Hmm. Which part of you will I use? You have a pretty face. Maybe I will use those eyes of yours for the ritual. My sister always liked gray eyes.”

The Butcher took one more step and his body suddenly went straight as a rod. A circle of odd symbols glowed against the ground as it discharged its magic into the Butcher’s body. Purplish bolts of magic danced across the Butcher’s body as he convulsed wildly. Finally, the rune ran out of juice and dissipated, causing the Butcher to flop to the ground limply, unconscious but not dead.

Lyz sat up with a wide grin.

“Gotcha bitch!”

Wuunferth chose this moment to barge into the house. His eyes were glowing, and his magic lashed around him like a barely restrained tiger.

“I stopped the flame atronach. How are you -- oh.”

Wuunferth took in the mild destruction within the room. The shattered furniture, the scorch marks on the ceiling, the unconscious body on the floor.

He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Huh. Looks like you didn’t need my help after all.”

“On the contrary,” Lyz said. “Placing a rune inside of his hideout was your idea. There’s the perpetrator right over there.”

Lyz pointed at the Butcher. Wuunferth walked up to the unmoving form and used a ball of light to illuminate the Butcher’s face.

“Ah, I recognize this one. His name is Calixto. He runs one of the shops in the Grey Quarter. Lost a sister recently. That must explain what he was trying to do with the murders and the ritual. Bring his sister back.” Wuunferth shook his head. “I’ll get the guards and have them carry him back to our jail. He won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Wuunferth said the last part ominously and left the house to fetch the city guards. Lyz watched the court wizard leave, then turned her attention to Bran. The wolf still lay on the ground unable to move. Lyz slowly walked up to him and examined his body.

“Hey, pup. You’re not too badly hurt,” Lyz concluded. “Calixto must have used a paralysis spell to knock you out of the fight. It won’t cause you any physical harm, but it’ll take magic to dispel it.”

Bran panted heavily and tried to move away when Lyz settled a hand on his shoulder. Lyz noticed the change in his breathing and paused.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lyz murmured softly. “You should know that by now.”

Bran squeezed his eyes shut. The memory of the nightmares flooded his head. The witches’ shadowy faces pressed against the edges of his mind. The magic-tainted hands grasped and tore at his flesh. For a moment, he thought he even saw the woman who had turned him into a monster many years ago among the clawing hands.

He’d always hated witches. Hated their magic. Hated their cruel ways. Hated that he would have become one had he not run away from his own mother. He didn’t want to feel the taint of a witch’s magic on him ever again.

A gentle brush against his ear interrupted his thoughts. He opened his eyes to find Lyz gently petting his head. Her fingers slid through his thick fur and stroked the skin underneath.

“You can either wait until the paralysis spell wears off on its own and be completely defenseless until that happens. Or you can let me dispel it and be able to get up now. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” The last part was said earnestly, as if Lyz was speaking from her heart.

He swallowed thickly. Part of Bran wanted to say no. It was definitely because of his fear of witches and had nothing to do with the hand stroking his head. He had watched magic tear his mate to pieces and sever his connection to his wolf. The last thing he wanted was to give another person, witch or otherwise, a chance to use their magic against him. But Lyz was right. He hated being defenseless too. If Bran was frank with himself, it wasn’t so much knowing that the witches had used their magic to try and turn him into a mindless pet so many times throughout his life. It was that he had been helpless to stop them.

Bran let out a shaky breath. Lyz’s reassurances had been unnecessary. The choice had already been made for him. He looked up at Lyz to the best of his abilities and blinked.

Lyz removed her hand from his head, and he stopped the panic that slid up his spine. Then he felt her place both of her hands on his side and stroked downwards. The soft magic in her palms pulled away the burning sensation of the Butcher’s magic as her hands slid across his back. His muscles relaxed as the paralysis spell lost its grip on his body, but Bran waited until all of the magic left his body before standing up.

He met Lyz’s eyes and they stood frozen for a moment, neither able to look away. Her eyes flashed with realization as she saw something in his expression, and she opened her mouth to speak. However, before any words could leave her mouth, she looked away from him and stood up. She walked over to where she had dropped the Necromancer’s Amulet and picked it up. She stared at the magical trinket silently, her expression turning unreadable. With a sigh, she shoved the amulet into her pocket and motioned for Bran to follow her.

They walked side-by-side as they exited the house. A group of guards passed them by as they left Valunstrad, presumably summoned by the court mage to arrest Calixto. Bran was surprised that the guards had responded so quickly. They were probably eager to clean up the mess that the Butcher left behind before the city residents woke up and got curious.

Bran glanced up at Lyz curiously as they made their way towards the jarl’s palace. Her face had gone blank ever since they had left the abandoned house. He thought back to how Lyz had reacted around the dead bodies in the Hall of the Dead, and again whenever necromancers had been mentioned.

Yes, Bran said mentally. He was more certain now than he had been earlier. Lyz knew something about necromancers, more than could be explained away by her being a mage and an adventurer. She’d known something about the Necromancer’s Amulet even before Wuunferth had told them about it. He had caught it in the subtle frown she had made when they had first found the amulet and again when she had shown it to Wuunferth. She had a personal history with necromancers even though she didn’t seem like she was one. Bran would need to keep a close eye on her.

* * *

They returned to the jarl’s palace after a good night of rest. They left the inn just before dawn. The streets were still quiet this early in the morning. A few merchants were making their way towards the Gray Quarter market with crates full of merchandise, but the stands would not be open for at least another hour. Lyz led the way, her hood pulled up over her head to keep out the cold. Bran’s thick fur kept out the cold without the need for extra cover.

Steward Jorleif was waiting for them when they entered the castle. He smiled when he saw the pair and he motioned towards the chairs at the feast table as he sat down himself.

“Well done, you too,” Jorleif congratulated. “Thanks to you two, we managed to stop the Butcher before he could kill any more victims. I wouldn’t have ever suspected Calixto. I had heard strange things about the man, but never anything like this. He had always seemed like a nice one, eccentric at worst. He will be kept in our prison for a very long time.”

“So, about my reward,” Lyz purred.

“Of course. I had wanted to wait until the jarl was present to give it to you, but he won’t be available today. The war has left him rather busy. Wait here.”

The steward rose from his chair and disappeared into one of the side rooms. Lyz swayed her legs underneath the table eagerly.

“Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold, gold.”

Bran looked at the woman sideways before stealing one of the pastries off the table. He sank his fangs into the pastry and wagged his tail as it melted in his mouth. The sweet rolls in Skyrim were amazingly delicious.

Jorleif returned quickly and placed a key into Lyz’s outstretched hand. Lyz tilted her head as she inspected the key.

“What’s this?”

“That is a key to Hjerim. It used to be the home of Friga Shatter-Shield before she was killed by Calixto. Now that the house is vacant, we need someone to move in before the place is taken over by any more squatters.”

Lyz made a face. “Is that the same place where the Butcher was hiding out? The one where he was captured?”

“Why yes. A little cleanup is still needed, but you will be receiving Hjerim for free. It shouldn’t be too costly.”

“T-thank you,” Lyz said hesitantly. She gingerly placed the key in her pocket. “Is there anything else you would like to give me?”

“No. That will be all. You are free to go. By the way, you can keep that token I gave you. You have more than proven yourself worthy of it.”

With that, Jorleif walked away, no doubt to find the jarl and report the news of the Butcher’s capture to him. Lyz made a face before getting out of her seat and leaving the castle. As soon as the doors closed behind them, she scowled bitterly.

“This reward sucks. Why couldn’t they just give me money?”

Bran woofed in agreement. He wouldn’t want a house that a necromancer had called home either.

“No way am I living in a house like that. I will pay to get it cleaned up, but I am selling it as soon as it no longer reeks of dead bodies.” Lyz gave Bran a rare smile. “Are you ready to leave Windhelm?”

Bran nodded. She couldn’t have asked too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finished another chapter! And now to start the next chapter. D:


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter because I needed to study for an exam. Chapter now because I have another exam I need to study for next week. D:

They were almost back in Riften. After a quick stop at Sadri’s Used Wares, they hit the road headed back south. The change from the valley to the birch forests signaled their close proximity to the city. However, before they made it all the way back to Riften, Lyz came to a stop in the middle of the road. She hummed to herself and turned to Bran.

“I’m low on alchemy ingredients. Want to help me collect some more?”

Bran didn’t know much about alchemy in Skyrim, but he imagined that picking flowers and berries couldn’t be too difficult. Besides, he might learn something that might be useful in the future. He nodded his head.

Lyz bent down and picked one of the flowers growing alongside the road. “This is a blue mountain flower. If you combine it with wheat, you can create a simple yet effective healing potion. Let’s pick some mountain flowers while we are out here.”

Bran helped Lyz pick mountain flowers along the road. The flowers grew in thick clusters which made it easier for Bran to spot them among the green, white and browns of the Rift forest. The mellow yet pleasant fragrance of the flowers clung to Bran’s nose as he picked them, and he considered saving some of the flowers to line his resting spot in Lyz’s cabin. When they ran out of flowers along the road to pick, they moved deeper into the woods to search for more flowers.

Bran was in the middle of nosing through a cluster of red mountain flowers when something moved out of the corner of his eyes. He sniffed the air and smiled knowingly. Lowering himself into a crouch, he silently stalked in the direction of the movement. His ears faintly picked up the sound of scratching and chewing. He crept a few steps closer and launched himself through the bushes. The rabbit gave a loud squeak as Bran grabbed it between his jaws.

Once the rabbit had been dispatched, Bran picked up his prize with a proud grin. The hunt was brief, but it had relieved some of the stress that Bran had been carrying for over a week. He realized, with a start, that it had been a while since he had last gone out hunting.

For a werewolf as old as him, habits were important. Habits were what kept them sane when their wolf half chose to be difficult. Or if they suddenly found themselves in a strange magical world far away from home. He hadn’t realized that he had started neglecting his own habits until now. He would have to convince Lyz to go out hunting with him more often. Perhaps with her around, he would be able to hunt freely without having to worry about an ambush from any more Silver Hand.

He took a step towards where Lyz was no doubt waiting for him and heard a muted crunch. He lifted his paw and stared oddly at the object he had just stepped on.

A piece of shell lay on the ground. It was dark and odorless but had crunched underneath his paw like a discarded cicada shell. Shedding from a spider, Bran guessed. He stepped over the husk and brought the rabbit to Lyz.

Lyz glanced at the rabbit in surprise. “I was wondering why you ran off. Looks like we have something for dinner tonight.”

Lyz patted his head before taking the rabbit. Bran felt almost ridiculous when his tail wagged happily in response. He watched as Lyz attached the rabbit to her belt, then helped her gather up the remaining flowers.

“This should be enough to last at least a month,” Lyz said as she stuffed the last bundle of flowers into her pack. “Just need to take them back home so that I can dry them. Good job.”

They headed back towards the road. As they walked, Lyz glanced down at him sideways and appeared to take a deep breath.

“A lot of people underestimate the usefulness of alchemy. They think that if they need a potion, they can just buy it from a local alchemist. But those people are short-sighted. Knowing how to mix your own potions gives you much greater flexibility.”

_Trying to start a conversation, are you?_ Bran thought. _Getting tired of the silence, or just want to see how I will react?_

To Lyz’s words, he just nodded pensively.

Lyz frowned uncertainly. “For example, let’s say you are fighting a giant. Most people would think that a regular poison would work best. But an experienced alchemist would mix a poison that would weaken a giant, as well as slow it down so that it can’t chase you. What do you think?”

Bran simply chuffed in agreement.

Lyz’s frown deepened. “Are you going to give me an answer or just keep making those noises at me?”

Bran looked at her blankly. He was a wolf. Why did she expect him to be able to talk?

Lyz shook her head. “Never mind.”

When they reached the gates of Riften, instead of going straight, they turned towards the lake and took the steps leading up to Lyz’s cabin. Bran let out a sigh of relief and sprawled out on the rug when they entered the cabin. He’d missed that rug so much. Lyz let out a giggle and covered her mouth in shock. Bran rolled onto his back and lowered his eyelids at her.

“You didn’t hear that,” Lyz said as she stepped over him and laid the rabbit on the tabletop. She dumped the bag of mountain flowers next to the rabbit and set about skinning and gutting the animal. Bran watched her from his resting spot lazily.

Lyz’s knife maneuvered around the rabbit with an ease that hinted at years of practice. She discarded the skin and grabbed several spices from her kitchen. Salt, apples, snowberries, and mountain flowers. The last ingredient piqued Bran’s interest and he began to watch her carefully.

Lyz sliced the apples thinly and crushed the berries. She plucked the petals off the mountain flowers and tossed them into the cooking pot by the fire along with the salt. She stirred the dry ingredients around until a sweet fragrance began to fill the room, then quickly added in the fruit. Soon the rabbit and a couple more spices followed. By the time the dish was complete, the room had filled with the heavy scent of food and Bran was salivating.

Lyz scooped the food into two separate bowls and placed one of the bowls on the ground in front of him. Some more shuffling came from the kitchen, and she returned with a plate of steamed vegetables that smelled of lavender.

They ate on the floor together. The rabbit dish was sweet and savory. The mountain flowers had added an aromatic aftertaste that complemented the sweetness of the fruit. Bran bit into one of the steamed vegetables and couldn’t stop his tail from wagging.

Lyz chuckled as he ate another one of the steamed vegetables. “I have to eat more than dried meat and roasted sticks once in a while.”

When Bran was full, he stood up, stretched and went over to the bookshelf across from Lyz’s bed. He scanned the covers of the books lined up on the shelf and looked for the one with the most interesting title. His eyes paused on one book in particular and he pulled the book off the shelf and dropped it in Lyz’s lap.

“Huh?” Lyz mumbled sleepily, blinking away a food coma. She looked down at the book. “You want me to read to you again? I didn’t know you were this fond of bedtime stories. Although, I have to mention that ‘Herbane’s Bestiary’ isn’t exactly most people’s first choice. You sure you don’t want to pick a different one?”

Bran laid back down on the rug and gazed at Lyz patiently. Lyz shrugged at him and began reading.

The book detailed the author’s knowledge of a creature known as a ‘hagraven.’ The writer described the creature as being some horrible amalgamation of bird and woman. The writer even described their magic.

The more Lyz read, the more Bran’s fur began to stand on end. In his mind’s eye, he saw a monster that had stood beside a black witch in a forest. It hunched over and clicked its dark talons as its face pulled back into a tight sneer. It reeked of darkness.

Bran’s suspicions when he had selected the book had been correct. The creature that had attacked him outside of Aspen Creek had been a hagraven. He hadn’t recognized it when he first saw it because it wasn’t a creature of his world. It was a creature of _this_ world.

Lyz noticed his agitation and stopped reading. “What’s wrong? Don’t like the book? You should have picked a different one like ‘Sword fighting for Dummies.’”

Bran had many questions that he needed to ask Lyz. He wanted to ask her about what hagravens truly were, where did they come from, and how they were made. But his wolf form prevented him from doing so. In frustration, he tried to force his body back into his human shape. He fought and fought until he was gasping for breath, but he didn’t even feel the beginnings of the Change take place. In the end, he roared in frustration and collapsed onto the ground.

His outburst had shocked Lyz. She slowly set the book on the ground and took a few steps back. “Okay. Maybe we can save bedtime stories for another night. I’m going to bed.”

Lyz grabbed the leftover mountain flowers off the table and took them downstairs.

Bran let out a defeated sigh. It had been several days since he had first arrived in Skyrim, yet he felt like he was getting nowhere. At the rate things were going, he would never be able to return to Aspen Creek.

The negative thoughts would keep him up all night if he didn’t go to sleep before he got too pessimistic, so he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

* * *

Lyz’s ‘job’ had been completed without a hitch. Lyz left the cabin the next morning and returned with a pouch full of coins. Her eyes almost appeared to glow as she counted the coins over and over again. Now that the job in Windhelm had been completed, they now had at least a couple of days off until their next job.

For the next few days, Bran accompanied Lyz on various small outings around the Rift hold. They would hunt for food and harvest alchemy ingredients that grew in the forests surrounding the city. Occasionally, they would venture out into the city and barter with local merchants and exchange gossip with locals.

From these outings, Bran learned more about the region and its people. The Rift, he’d learned, wasn't only home to humans and elves. Other sentient creatures took up residence in the city. The Argonians were a race of reptilian creatures who originated from Black Marsh and were frequently found working the docks of Riften. On one particular day, a caravan of strange cat-like people set up camp outside of Riften and sold items of questionable origin. Just when Bran had thought he’d seen it all, he and Lyz had run into an aging orcish warrior who was on a journey to seek out an honorable death. Bran hadn’t understood that one, but Lyz had simply wished the warrior luck before the pair continued on their way. So many odd people were to be found in such an isolated region.

Every night after a good hunt, he and Lyz would eat together and store away their newly acquired supplies. Bran would select another book and have Lyz read to him. With each story, Bran increased his knowledge of the strange new world known as Tamriel. He learned about the history of Skyrim, the background of the civil war, and the culture of the people who live in the region.

While most of this information fascinated Bran, none of them led him closer to his goal. They did not provide any answers as to why a hagraven had attacked his home, why he had lost his ability to Change, or how he could return home. Each night, he went to sleep feeling increasingly frustrated and helpless.

The only real progress he had made was with his closeness to Lyz. At some point, without Bran really realizing it, the woman had lost her aversion of being near him. She no longer moved away when he approached her. She no longer hesitated before scratching his ear. She no longer hid her facial expressions from him when she thought he was watching. The improvement was almost enough to make Bran forget about his frustrations.

Despite Lyz’s increased ease around him, she still kept many secrets. The woman rarely spoke of her past and would ignore Bran’s prompting for more information. Worst of all, the strange, red-haired man from before continued to visit Lyz from time to time. This man -- Brynjolf, Bran recalled -- would knock on the door late at night after most of the Riften residents had already gone to sleep. Lyz and Brynjolf would step into the kitchen and speak in quiet tones about matters that Lyz never shared with Bran.

Brynjolf made Bran wary and suspicious. No good could come from the man.

On one particular night, Bran was awoken by a quiet knock on the front door. He was sprawled out in one of his usual sleeping spots at the foot of Lyz’s bed. He’d been expecting Brynjolf to eventually visit again, so Bran ignored the knock and pretended to still be asleep. He intended to find out who this Brynjolf character was and what he was up to. Tonight, his efforts paid off. His eye opened by a slit and he watched as Lyz slipped out of bed and tiptoed around him. She glanced back at Bran and checked to see if he was awake. Bran kept his breathing level and his body relaxed. Reassured that he was still asleep, Lyz looked away and opened the door silently.

Brynjolf stood on the other side. On previous nights, Brynjolf had been dressed in plain clothes that would have kept him hidden and unnoticed even after dark. This time, however, the man wore sleek leather armor and a hood that bore a striking resemblance to Lyz’s preferred outfit. Brynjolf placed a hand on Lyz’s arm and pulled her close. His lips pressed against her ear.

A protective instinct surged through Bran and nearly caused him to rush for Brynjolf. Fortunately, Bran managed to suppress the instinct long enough to notice that Brynjolf’s lips were moving.

“... come with me. It can’t wait.”

Lyz looked into Brynjolf’s eyes before nodding silently. She followed him outside and closed the door behind her. Their footsteps began to fade out of earshot.

Brynjolf had visited in the middle of the night, but they had always kept their discussions inside the house. This was the first time they had actually left the house entirely. Curiosity and suspicion ate at Bran and he decided he had gone without answers for too long. Tonight was the night that he would find out what Lyz and Brynjolf were really up to.

Bran stood up and made his way to the door. Lyz had locked the door behind her, the careful woman that she was. But unlocking it with his mouth and paws was easy and Bran slipped out of the cabin without making a noise.

The two humans had already disappeared into the night, but their scents still lingered. Bran used his nose to trail them, first through the central market, then into the cemetery. Bran made his way past the weathered tombstones and the patches of nightshade flowers that liked to grow in the graveyard. The scent trail led all the way up to a large tomb on the far side of the cemetery before vanishing completely.

Bran tilted his head in confusion and sniffed around. He didn’t think that they used magic to hide their scents. They hadn’t done so on their way out and a human’s sense of smell was weak enough that they probably wouldn’t have thought to hide their scents to begin with. That meant that Bran was missing something.

By chance, Bran’s nose grazed a small lump protruding from one of the walls of the tomb. Bran hadn’t noticed it at first, but as soon as he realized it was there, he noticed how worn that particular spot was. While the rest of the tomb had become dusty and oxidized with age, this particular spot had been rubbed smooth. It was as if this particular spot was touched regularly.

He poked the lump with his nose experimentally and felt it slide into place inside a hidden chamber inside the wall. The tomb suddenly shifted, and Bran took several steps back. The ground slid away and revealed a stone staircase disappearing beneath the tomb. Bran studied the staircase curiously. Brynjolf’s scent lingered on the steps. Several sets of shoe prints were worn into the steps. Bran gingerly crept down the steps until he reached the bottom of the staircase. He flinched when the stone coffin slid back over the staircase and plunged Bran into the darkness and musty scent of the hidden passageway.

Bran grumbled in irritation. The only way back was forward. He gave a sigh of resignation and groped around for a way out. Bran nosed around until he found a small doorway inside the passageway and eased his way through.

The passageway opened up into a large underground cistern. Water covered almost every surface and pooled into the center of the cistern. The stone floor was slimy and stank of mildew. Bran’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the muck that clung to his paws as he entered the cistern. However, he froze when he caught sight of the shadowy outlines of people on the walkways crossing over the cistern. The people were all dressed in dark leather armor and moved too silently. Some of them lay on beds placed in the corners of the cistern.

It was a hideout, Bran realized. It was a place to gather underneath Riften without being noticed. Bran had been walking over the cistern every day without ever realizing that it was there. Lyz had never mentioned this place to him either.

Bran kept to the shadows as he crept forward. His ears tilted left and right as he tried to estimate the number of people roaming around the cistern. Eventually, his ears caught a familiar feminine voice.

Lyz stood in the center of the cistern where all of the walkways intersect. One of her blonde braids stuck out from underneath her hood and rested over her shoulder. Her back was to Bran, but he could see the faces of the men in front of her and see their mouths moving. She was in a deep conversation with Brynjolf and an older man.

“This is serious, lass. I told you to be careful with the Goldenglow job.”

Brynjolf’s voice drifted towards Bran as the wolf positioned himself behind a cluster of barrels. The man sounded mildly worried and gazed at Lyz with furrowed eyebrows.

Lyz folded her arms. “The Goldenglow job wasn’t my idea. And it was approved by Lady Blackbriar.”

The older man grunted. “What about the job where you stole her horse?”

Lyz was silent.

“You’re lucky that Maven likes you so much. Otherwise, she would have had you killed. This time, she decided that you will repay her by completing another job for her. It’s a simple enough job. Just have to deal with one of her competitors.”

“Thank you, Mercer. I will take care of it immediately. Hopefully, that will be enough to get Maven off my back.”

“Don’t be so overconfident. I thought I trained members of the Thieves Guild better than this. Stealing that horse was not only stupid, it was sloppy.”

Lyz looked down at her feet sheepishly.

Bran’s ears were pinned back. Lyz was a thief. And not just any thief. She was a member of a thieves guild. Much of what he had witnessed of her suddenly made sense. The secret meetings, the jobs involving sketchy characters, her lockpicking skills, her obsession with gold. It all made sense now. Well... maybe not that last one.

“Well, what do we have here?”

A hand seized Bran’s leg and dragged him out from behind the barrels. Bran twisted in surprise. He hadn’t heard the man approach. Only felt the sharp yank that left him exposed for the entire Thieves Guild to see. Bran curled his body around and snapped his teeth at the man who had dragged him out of his hiding spot. The bald man jumped away and grinned at him fiercely.

“Feisty one, aren’tcha? Thought that you could hide from a bunch of trained thieves, huh?”

Bran looked around and realized that all heads were now turned towards him. They slowly made their way towards Bran and laughed when he growled at them.

“We’ve got ourselves a mean one. I wonder if it's a stray.”

“Throw it into the pot with the rest. I’m hungry.”

“At least let me play with it first. I have a new trick I would like to test out.”

“It’s _mine_.”

Lyz’s voice rang out above the rest. All heads turned and the cistern fell silent. The other thieves shifted out of the way as Lyz passed through the crowd and stood before Bran.

“It’s my dog. I thought I left it at home.”

The last comment must have been directed at Bran because Lyz’s face settled into a stony frown when she said it.

One of the thieves gave Lyz a weird look. “You of all people got a dog? I thought you hated animals.”

“Yes, I do. Human and elven animals included,” Lyz deadpanned. “But I figured that if I am going to be out robbing the homes of important people, I should at least have some backup.”

Mercer gave Lyz a deeply suspicious look. “Interesting choice of backup. He appears to be about as well-trained as you are.”

Lyz opened and closed her mouth. Then she glared at Bran. “Sit.”

Bran looked at her oddly. She was going to tell him to sit at a time like this?

Lyz’s eyes narrowed to thin lines. “I said _sit_.”

Bran sat down slowly, holding Lyz’s gaze defiantly.

“Down.”

He laid down.

“Roll over.”

Bran rolled over, then glared at Lyz coldly.

“See?” Lyz said. “He knows a few tricks. Although, he appears to have difficulty with the stay command.”

Mercer didn’t look entirely convinced, though he didn’t press Lyz further. “Next time warn us before inviting your pet to our hideout. The last thing we need is for someone to find out that we’re down here. Maven might have our backs, but the jarl will have our throats.” Mercer looked at the gathered crowd. “Back to work, all of you.”

The thieves muttered in disappointment and drifted away. Brynjolf gave Lyz a wistful look before leaving. Mercer’s eyes lingered on Bran, cold and predatory, before he too left.

Lyz sighed. “That could have gone worse,” she muttered.

She looked at Bran, a scowl etched into her face, before gesturing towards the secret entrance. Bran led the way back outside and they silently made their way back to the cabin. As soon as the door shut behind them, Lyz whirled around to face Bran with a furious look.

“What were you thinking?” She hissed, eyes blazing. “Do you even realize how much trouble you nearly got me into?”

Bran met her glare with an equally angry stare. The _thief_ had the nerve to criticize his actions after she’d kept her profession a secret from him for weeks. All this time spent working alongside this woman only to discover that he had been aiding a thief. He couldn’t use words to express how offended he felt, but that didn’t stop him from growling.

“You’re going to growl at me? After I let you stay in my house? After I put up with your attitude for weeks? You’re sitting here getting upset about me being a member of the Thieves Guild when we both know that you are way more than the dog you pretend to be.”

Bran blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. Now that she had mentioned it, it was hard to deny that he had been lying too. He had initially tried to fool Lyz into believing that he was a lost dog. In fact, the only reason he had stopped pretending was because Lyz had eventually seen through the act. His anger was not only illogical. It was hypocritical.

When had Bran become so invested in Lyz’s private life? Getting this emotionally involved with her had never been a part of his plan. He just needed a place to stay and some means of safely traveling around while he tried to find a way back to Earth. So why was he getting so upset about Lyz keeping secrets from him?

Bran looked at Lyz’s angry face, then down at his claws that were in the process of digging themselves into the floorboards. He was getting attached to her. He was beginning to care about her safety when he had only intended to stay with her temporarily. As ridiculous as it was, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Wolves were pack animals, not loners.

Bran lowered his head onto his forepaws and gave an apologetic whine.

Lyz tilted her head in confusion. “Was that supposed to be an apology or an attempt to garner sympathy? I really hope it’s not the latter.” She frowned. “No, wait. You’re hungry again. You always liked to steal food out of the kitchen every night around this time.”

Apparently, their communication skills still needed some work. Bran padded up to Lyz and rolled onto his back. He flattened his ears and tucked his tail between his legs in a classic submissive pose. As an alpha werewolf, the pose felt both foreign and incredibly uncomfortable.

Lyz stared down at him blankly. Then she very slowly crouched down and patted his belly. “Fine. I forgive you. Next time just let me sneak out in peace. Okay?”

Bran immediately rolled over and surprised her with a lick to her cheek. That got a giggle out of Lyz as she swatted his face away.

“You brat! That was disgusting. This is why I don’t keep pets.”

_That didn’t stop you from keeping some stranger’s dog_ , Bran thought unrepentantly.

Lyz sat on the floor with a sudden frown. Her fingers fiddled with the tip of her braid as she chewed on her lip. Bran nudged his head underneath her chin and whimpered.

“It’s nothing serious,” Lyz explained. “I just need your help with something. You see, I may have pissed off the most powerful woman in town by stealing one of her prized horses and she recently found out. _May have_.”

Bran lifted an eyebrow at her. For some reason, he did not believe that ‘may have’ portion of her words.

“I mean,” she tapped her fingers together. “It’s not like I’m afraid of her. I’m well-connected and quite skilled despite what Mercer thinks. If I wanted to, I could probably break into her house and slit her throat without anyone noticing. And even if I didn’t, she is going to lose whatever edge she has over me pretty soon. The real reason I’m concerned is because someone like that can still make my life difficult. That’s why I need your help with the next job that was handed to me.”

Her words sounded like bragging, but Bran didn’t miss the bald casualness in her voice. He wasn’t sure what connections she was referring to. Although, he did not doubt that Lyz could beat Lady Blackbriar in a fight. The noble struck Bran as the type to rely on others to do her dirty work. She wouldn’t stand a chance against Lyz if the skilled thief managed to corner her in the middle of the night.

Bran nudged Lyz’s arm with his nose, urging her to continue.

“I just got offered a small job involving one of Maven’s competitors. There’s a place south of Whiterun. They call it Honningbrew Meadery.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair begin their journey to Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!

They packed up the next morning. Lyz stowed away a map, potions, and dried food for the two of them. She explained the route that she planned on taking, saying that they would be stopping in Whiterun to meet with a contact before heading to the meadery.

Bran was satisfied with the plan. He had always been interested in seeing the rest of Skyrim. He could only learn so much from books and maps. And whatever answers he sought regarding his situation did not seem to be present in Riften.

Before leaving, Lyz reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a leather object. “Here. I had this made for you.”

Bran eyed the object dubiously. It looked like a crude shirt at first glance. But then Bran realized that it was too round and had too many openings in the side to be for a human. It looked more like a vest, if there were vests made for canines. The vest had several small pouches attached to its back and sides and was reinforced with metal at key points. It reminded him of the vests that military dogs wore, just less well-constructed. He gave Lyz a look.

Lyz made a face back. “Don’t give me that look. It’s armor. For you. We lucked out when we took that trip to Windhelm. Other than the dragon and the deranged serial killer, we didn’t run into too many scary things that wanted to kill us. But I doubt we will be so lucky next time. Skyrim is filled with bandits, bears, spriggan and crazy people that may up and decide to kill us because they were in a murderous mood. What do you plan on doing if someone tries to chop you in half with an axe? Catch it with your teeth?”

Bran had to admit that Lyz made a good point. One lucky shot from a bandit, and Bran would probably lose a limb. Still, it had been a very long time since Bran had worn armor. Even longer since he had worn armor while in wolf form. He sighed in defeat and let Lyz put the armor on him. Lyz tightened the straps on the vest before stepping back.

“Aww. You look so cute! Like a dressed-up puppy.”

If looks could kill….

“Oh! One last thing.” Lyz reached into her pocket and slipped a couple small vials into the side of the vest. “These are potions. The red bottle heals you, the green bottle treats exhaustion, and the white bottle turns you invisible. Use them if you get into a tight spot and I’m not there to help you.”

Bran glanced at the little bottles. He was suspicious of drinking anything that was made by anyone else. But Lyz hadn’t tried to poison him so far, so he figured it was safe. He took a couple experimental steps with the vest on. Not bad. The vest felt weird on his body but did not restrict his movement at all. He wondered how Lyz had managed to get the measurements just right.

Lyz nodded approvingly as she observed Bran test out the vest. “Looks like those measurements I gave the blacksmith were right. Trying to eyeball your proportions without you noticing is really difficult.”

Bran snorted in mock disapproval.

“Now that you are suited up, it’s time for me to get my armor on.”

Lyz dug around inside of her wardrobe. Surprisingly, rather than donning her usual dark leather armor and hood, she went with a plain set that wasn’t as heavily armored but would still protect her during a fight. Still, Bran was confused why Lyz would insist on him wearing more armor, then proceed to wear lower quality armor. She must have caught his confused look because she answered his unspoken question.

“The other armor I wear is standard Thieves Guild attire. It doesn’t matter if I wear it while on a job or in Riften, but the wrong person might recognize it in Whiterun.”

Bran nodded his head. Sounds reasonable. Although, part of him still didn’t approve of the fact that she had made a career out of stealing, even going so far as to join a guild that specialized in the illicit practice. If the guild’s armor was so recognizable that she had to worry about people in other cities recognizing her, then that suggested that the guild’s operations were pretty widespread and extensive.

A thought crossed Bran’s mind. A guild with extensive operations was bound to also have an extensive information network. A network that would allow Bran to tap into info across the entirety of Skyrim. Bran’s tail swished thoughtfully. He could use this. But he would have to work through Lyz to do it. And as things currently stood, he had no good way of telling her specifically what he was looking for or why she should help him.

Lyz waved a hand in front of Bran’s face. “Hey. Are you even paying attention?”

Bran blinked at her in surprise. Had she been talking?

“I asked if you were ready to go? I’ve finished packing.”

Bran nodded and followed Lyz out the door. His plans would have to wait.

* * *

Whiterun was roughly northwest of Riften. However, there were no roads leading directly from one city to the other. Instead, they would have to follow a weaving set of paths to travel all the way to the distant city. Lyz estimated that it would be a couple days of travel on foot before they arrived.

The walk would have been boring, except that Lyz’s earlier predictions had been correct. They were confronted with numerous threats on the first day of the journey. First, they had accidentally spooked a bear which somehow turned into a fight against a creature known as a spriggan and its army of pissed off wildlife. Then they ran into a group of bandits that tried to catch them by surprise before being chased off by one of Lyz’s fire atronachs. Then a random thief had tried to rob them with a tiny dagger.

Bran scowled at Lyz as the inexperienced thief babbled out an apology to the Thieves Guild member and toddled off.

Lyz shrugged. “He must be new to the profession. Any experienced thief would have realized that we were a bad mark. With or without the guild’s armor.” She glanced up at the darkening sky with a frown. “It’s getting dark already? Damn. I was hoping we would have managed to get further than this. Looks like we will have to set up camp for tonight.”

Bran stared at the tiny pack on her back. There was no way a tent could fit inside such a small bag. Bran didn’t mind sleeping on dirt, but he didn’t like being so exposed in such an unsafe place. Their encounter with the angry spriggan had reminded him that bandits and wild animals weren’t the only dangers this world had to offer.

They took a detour off the main road and walked until they came across a small pond. The water appeared clean enough to drink and there was enough open space beside the pond for a camp. Lyz waited silently as Bran sniffed around the area. A bear had passed by the pond a few days ago, but the area was otherwise undisturbed. When he was convinced the pond was safe, he nodded to Lyz.

Lyz crouched down with a sigh and refilled her water jug. Then she set her pack on the ground and flexed her fingers. Purplish magic swirled around her hands as her fingers twitched their way through a complex spell. Then, with a burst that made Bran’s ears pop, a tent appeared before her.

Bran gawked at the tent in amazement. He had seen Lyz conjure many strange things, but he had never heard of Tamrielic mages conjuring objects like tents before. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he had heard of any mages who could conjure non-magical objects. Such a thing had certainly never been spoken of in his books.

Bran glanced at Lyz’s hands, then prodded the tent with a paw.

“Ah,” Lyz preened. “I see that you have taken interest in my favorite magic trick. The truth is that spell is the result of a collaborative project that I worked on with a friend of mine. Previously, the College of Winterhold had only focused on conjuration spells that could only summon magical weapons and creatures. But after a night of um,” Lyz coughed, “celebrating, Narfi and I came up with the bright idea to test out some conjuration spells on actual physical objects.

“We initially tried to use upper-level conjuration spells to create physical weapons, but that didn’t work. Then one day, Narfi decided to mark some objects with a newly created enchantment, then try to summon them. And it worked.”

Lyz lifted one of the tent’s flaps to reveal a strange symbol on the inside surface. The rune was written in a language Bran didn’t understand, but it glowed faintly in the dark.

“I can summon solid objects as long as I have marked them with the appropriate enchantment. I can also send them back once I’m done with them. Saves me the trouble of having to carry everything.”

Bran was impressed. He knew that Lyz was an experienced mage, but he had underestimated Lyz’s magical capabilities. Most of the mages they had encountered so far had relied on basic spells learned from books to get by. But it seemed that Lyz preferred to innovate.

More importantly, this was one of the few times Lyz had actually talked about her past. Bran was certain this was the first time she had mentioned the name Narfi. He thought it was a strange name for a person, but her smile had broadened when she had said it. This must be someone that she was very close to.

His stomach churned unexpectedly. He hadn’t eaten since early in the morning. He was getting hungry.

Bran whimpered and pawed at the ground hungrily. “Give me a cheeseburger with a side of coleslaw,” he wanted to say. But it just came out as more hungry whimpers.

“Alright, alright.” Lyz patted his head. “I’ll get food ready. Lucky for you, we have just enough ingredients for bear stew tonight. Just let me get a fire started.”

Lyz set up the campfire and began searing some of the bear meat they had collected earlier. The delicious smell wafted through the air and a howl answered nearby. Bran shot up into an upright position and glanced in Lyz’s direction warily.

Lyz sighed. “Wolves. Again. I hate being attacked by wolves.”

A shadow slipped over the campfire and Lyz ducked and slashed as a wolf lunged for her head. Her dagger caught the wolf’s underside and dispatched it in one blow. But the rest of the pack did not relent. A large, feral-looking canine leapt out of the darkness surrounding their camp and snarled at Bran angrily. Bran snarled back. He may not be a true wolf, but he recognized a challenge issued even from one of Skyrim’s notorious wolves.

A true werewolf with his wolf side ascendant could have made a wild wolf back down without struggle. Even more, a dominant werewolf could have hijacked control of the pack and turned the other wolves against their leader. But seeing how Bran was currently only a wolf in shape and not spirit, the dark-furred wolf simply ignored his threat display and launched itself at him.

Bran rolled to the side. The wolf skittered past him and dug its claws into the soil. It used the leverage to launch itself back towards Bran and sink its teeth into the werewolf’s back. Its teeth caught on the leather vest and prevented its fangs from sinking into Bran’s flesh. Bran twisted and rolled until the wolf was dislodged then sank his own fangs into the animal’s leg. The wolf yelped, but before it could free itself, Bran slashed at its face with his claws. One of his claws caught the wolf’s ear and split it.

The wolf let out a shriek of pain and pulled free of Bran’s grip. It took several steps back and panted heavily as it watched Bran warily. Bran took a step towards the wolf. The wolf let out another yelp and disappeared into the bushes, the rest of the wolf pack following after it.

Bran shook himself, pleased when he felt no stinging or signs of soreness on his back. The vest had held up well. He looked around for Lyz, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. She had been right beside him last time he had checked.

He started to panic. The wolves must have dragged her off when he wasn’t looking. No wonder they had retreated so quickly. They already had their kill. Bran circled their camp, trying to catch her scent. He raised his head and howled, hoping that she would respond to his calls. A crash came from behind him and he whirled around with a snarl.

Lyz stomped back towards the campfire and threw her bag on the ground.

“Damn fur-brained wolves. Bastards nearly made off with the rest of our meat. Luckily for them, I managed to get it back before they disappeared with it. Otherwise, we would be eating wolf stew tonight instead.”

Bran stared blankly at Lyz. She had run off into the darkness of the woods after a pack of wolves all because the wolves stole their food? Had she lost her mind? Did she have any idea how worried Bran had been?

Bran paused the moment the thought settled itself into his mind. He was worried about her. Lyz. A woman he had met purely by chance and only stuck with because he wanted to return home. He had worried about her safety. The thought had unsettled Bran enough that he needed a moment to recollect himself. He bit down on his intrusive anger and worry and plopped down beside Lyz as she resumed her cooking.

“You know,” Lyz said as she stirred the meat inside the pot. “The subject of wolves reminds me of a story I once heard. It’s about a Daedric Prince named Hircine. I think I have the book on me right now.”

She dug through her bag and pulled out a worn book. “I’m technically borrowing it from a library, and I was supposed to return it about a month ago. But that grouchy orc isn’t going to be able to find me for at least another month, so I think I will be fine for now. Would you like me to read it?”

Bran settled down with a tired nod. After a long day of fighting various murderous creatures, there was nothing better than settling down to a story about an even more powerful monster that probably wants to kill you too. Lyz always chose the best books.

Lyz opened the book and began reading. Bran missed the title, but the book wasn’t too boring. It appeared to be about a man doing research into Daedric Princes. In this volume, he was doing research into the supposed Lord of the Hunt Hircine. According to legend, Hircine was known for hunting mortals and challenging heroes to duels. But most importantly, the writer had noted, Hircine was responsible for the creation of —

Bran’s head perked up. He must have misheard her.

Lyz had noticed his reaction. “That part got your attention? Yeah. I didn’t know Hircine had anything to do with lycanthropes. I had always heard the story that lycanthropy was spread by contact with werewolves or werebears. I didn’t know that it originated from Daedric Princes.”

_Wait… there are werebears too?_ Bran thought in shock. He nudged the edge of the book and whined impatiently, urging Lyz to continue reading.

“Huh. You really like these types of stories, don’t you? Guess I’ll have to see if I can find more of them. Let me keep reading.”

Bran nodded eagerly. Yes. He wanted her to read more books to him.

Bran quieted while Lyz read more of the book. The gears in his head spun as he absorbed more information from what Lyz read. A Daedric Prince associated with lycanthropes. He had heard of Daedric Princes, yet still felt like he knew very little about them. Were they gods? Or were they closer to demons? On Earth, werewolves were created by being mauled by another werewolf, preferably under a full moon. The creation of Tamriel’s werewolves sounded like a more complicated process involving forces that Bran had never heard of. How else did the werewolves in Tamriel differ from Earth’s own? If Bran could stumble across more information about Hircine and his creations, he might uncover the secret of why a hagraven had travelled all the way to Earth to capture Bran.

While Lyz finished off the rest of the book, Bran leaned his head against her thigh and curled up into a ball. They shared the stew and wished each other good night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyz and Bran arrive in Whiterun. Not all is as it seems.

Bran was a practical man. Well… wolf really. He preferred to focus on goals and sought out the most direct path towards those goals. Direct paths left the fewest opportunities for mistakes and unexpected outcomes. Furthermore, they allowed him to reach his desired goal much faster. As a result, he tended to get quite impatient with detours from said goals. Bran was feeling quite impatient at the moment.

Bran watched as Lyz sifted through the now abandoned bandit camp, sniffing out any valuable goods or loot worth hoarding. He had been waiting for her to finish for over half an hour.

_Come on, you damn woman. You already looked at that mammoth tusk twice!_

Bran retracted his earlier thoughts. Actually, he was feeling incredibly impatient.

He whined in annoyance when he saw Lyz pull out another chest from one of the bandits’ tents and pop it open with a lockpick.

“Almost done,” Lyz said without looking over her shoulder.

_That’s what you said ten minutes ago,_ Bran grumbled mentally. He swore that Lyz wasn’t really human. She was a dragon in disguise. Shiny objects called to her, and she hoarded them as greedily as any of the scaly beasts. He could see the horns sprouting from her head if he squinted hard enough.

Just his luck that as soon as they had the city of Whiterun in their sights, Lyz would stumble across a bandit camp. Granted, bandits weren’t the most skilled fighters. Even though the bandits had greatly outnumbered them, it had only taken the pair a couple minutes to dispatch most of the bandits and send the rest running for the hills. The bloodthirsty dremora chasing the fleeing bandits probably helped too. Of course, no fight was complete unless Lyz stopped to loot all the bodies. And Lyz did not spare anything. It appeared that the bandits had recently pillaged a village or attacked a travelling merchant because their camp was overflowing with interesting goods and bobbles that Lyz refused to walk away from.

Bran shot a glare in her direction as she inspected another glass of wine. What did Lyz even do with all the stuff she collected? He’d come across random piles of jewels and coins scattered across different parts of her cabin in the past, but Lyz was stopping to inspect even the less valuable items like the drinks and loose scraps of metal. He saw her slip something into her pack.

_Wait. Was that a wheel of cheese? What did she plan on doing with that?_

Bran shook his head and marched over to Lyz. That’s it. He’d had enough. He grabbed Lyz by her shoulder plate and dragged her away from the chest. The woman’s arms flailed around wildly as she tried to grab the chest.

“No! Wait! I was almost done!”

_Nope_ , Bran thought. Time to leave. They had work to do, and he wasn’t going to wait around any longer.

Eventually, Lyz figured out that Bran wasn’t going to relent and stopped struggling. Instead, she chose to follow him out of the bandit camp with a forlorn look back at the forgotten loot. The rest of the journey to Whiterun was short and uneventful. Bran caught a glimpse of a saber-toothed cat’s bobbed tail as it disappeared behind a slope, but the cat seemed too preoccupied with pursuing an elk to notice the pair of travellers.

They reached the main gate of Whiterun. Stone walls surrounded the large wooden doors. The walls were strong but showed signs of age. The stone had been worn away by centuries of Skyrim’s rough weather and rubble had begun to accumulate at the bases of many of the walls. Several guards were posted along the walkway leading up to the main gate. Bran eyed them warily. However, unlike Windhelm’s guards who had silently watched them like foo lions, Whiterun’s guards seemed to lounge around in a constant state of boredom. Some of them even appeared to be asleep. It was as if they did not expect anything to happen in the near future.

Lyz didn’t pause before walking through the gates, the guards apparently being of no concern to her. The gateway opened up to a city that appeared largely unaffected by the outside world. People bumbled around as they shopped, worked, and conversed with their neighbors. Children ran around and played in the street with large gray dogs trailing behind them faithfully. Bran moved closer to Lyz’s side and let his tongue loll out, seizing the opportunity to blend in.

Bran took in their surroundings as Lyz led him down one of the main paths. The path led to a large circle where many people were gathered and sold goods. It reminded him greatly of the market in Windhelm. He had hated Windhelm and hoped that Whiterun turned out to be better.

So far, the city was turning out to be a better experience. The climate was somewhat warmer than Windhelm, but not so warm that it made Bran feel uncomfortable. The openness of the city left him feeling a little exposed, but everyone walked past him as if he wasn’t even there. The peacefulness of the city would have been enjoyable if it weren’t for the priest screaming about Talos just beyond Bran’s line of sight.

Lyz stopped at one of the stalls and bartered with the merchant using the goods that she had acquired from the bandit camp. While Lyz talked, Bran leaned his head against her leg and let out a tired sigh. His body was relaxed and well-rested, but his mind was still in turmoil.

He had been in his wolf form for too long. A normal werewolf would have lost control to their wolf side by now and would have needed to be put down. But currently Bran wasn’t a normal werewolf. As far as he could tell, it was just his human half trapped inside the wolf’s body. But even though the human half was much more stable than the wolf half, that did not mean that his wolf form wasn’t beginning to take a toll on him. A human mind was not built for a wolf’s body. Especially not a human mind as old as his. His mind ached with needs that the wolf shape could not fulfill. He yearned to speak. He yearned to sing and play music. He yearned to hug his lost family closely. But he could do none of those things. Not while he was stuck as a wolf.

_What is that smell?_

An odd odor disrupted Bran’s thoughts. It tickled his nose with an unfamiliar familiarness that he couldn’t ignore. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of a dark-haired man at the other end of the market. The man’s scarred face stared in their direction from his hiding spot behind one of the empty stalls. His yellow eyes pierced Bran’s.

Bran looked away suddenly, heart racing. Werewolf. That was a werewolf.

The werewolf had caught Bran off guard. He hadn’t expected to run into another werewolf after his encounter with the Silver Hand. The werewolves in the Silver Hand’s care had been vicious and feral, trapped in the form of a mad wolf. It was clear that no one was home inside the heads of those tortured werewolves.

However, this man’s gaze held a deep intelligence. This one had lacked the mad, sickly eyes of the Silver Hand’s werewolves and had watched Bran with the sentience of a normal werewolf. What disturbed Bran the most was how the other werewolf had noticed Bran before Bran could notice him. Bran’s pack magic had not worked this time. The werewolf could have been watching them since they had entered Whiterun, and Bran had not noticed. There was only one way that could have been possible. He unintentionally pressed more of his weight against Lyz’s leg.

“Hm?” Lyz glanced down at him as she handed over her loot and took the coins from the merchant. “Something wrong?”

Lyz looked around, but the werewolf had already vanished. An edge of defensiveness cut into Bran’s chest, and he stayed pressed against Lyz’s side even as she stepped away. Lyz picked up on his wariness as she made her way through the doors to the inn bordering the market.

Bran took a deep breath through his nose as they entered the inn. No werewolves were in here as far as his nose could tell. He could relax his guard for the time being.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Lyz murmured beneath the noise of the inn.

Bran shook his head. Any other creature and Bran would have tried to warn her. But werewolves were perceptive creatures. If the one Bran had spotted was anything like the werewolves from his world, they would silence Lyz if they thought that she knew too much. She wouldn’t even have to say anything. Her body language and the change in her scent when she saw them would be the only clues that they would need to figure her out. She would be safer if she didn’t know.

Lyz gazed at him silently for a long moment before she approached the innkeeper and rented a room. She went into their rented room, dumped her bag on the ground and started making her way back towards the door. Bran moved to stand in her way. He didn’t want her to leave yet. The werewolf could still be waiting outside the inn. As long as there was a possibility of that werewolf being out there, Bran would feel much more comfortable if Lyz didn’t leave the inn.

Lyz stared down at him. Her face had that blank expression she made when she was studying someone. It made strangers uncomfortable, but she had made that face at Bran so many times that he had gotten used to it. Instead of shying away, he met her gaze with a blank expression of his own.

“You’re not usually this stubborn. Something scared you, didn’t it?”

Bran didn’t respond.

Lyz stared at him for several more seconds before backing down with a sigh. “Suit yourself.”

Bran gave a satisfied woof at her response. He looked around. Since they were going to be here for a while, they might as well get comfortable. Bran stretched and went to fetch Lyz’s bag. He stuck his head in the bag and dug through the books Lyz stored inside. The woman was quite the bookworm and always made sure to bring a couple books with her on their outings. Bran had made a habit of perusing the different books she kept whenever he got bored. Eventually, he pulled the book that he was looking for and plopped it before Lyz’s feet. Lyz picked up the book and inspected the cover.

“Again? Didn’t I just read this one?”

Bran sneezed and sat down on the floor.

Lyz rolled her eyes. “All right then. I’ll read it to you one more time. You daedra are strange.”

Bran closed his eyes and thought as she read. The book didn’t offer as much information on werewolves as he had hoped, but it was better than nothing. Lycanthropy could be attributed to a Daedric Prince named Hircine. Hircine was the Lord of the Hunt. The information seemed so simple, but it tangled in his mind like broken bits of wire.

It seemed that werewolves in Skyrim were unlike werewolves on Earth. Skyrim’s werewolves were tied to Hircine, while Earth’s werewolves were tied to the moon. Skyrim’s lycanthropes included wolves, bears and other creatures. Earth’s lycanthropes were limited to just wolves. The only thing the two types of werewolves had in common was that they could both change between wolf and human forms.

No. There was another similarity that Bran had potentially overlooked. Earth’s wolves were not particularly magical creatures. The magic they were most known for was their shapeshifting. However, wolf packs were also capable of using pack magic. Pack magic was a simple magic that connected all wolves in the pack. It allowed alphas to hear the needs of their pack, and pack members to seek the aid of their alphas.

Bran further noted that pack magic was also capable of covering up a pack’s movements and allowed them to hide in plain sight. A simple look-not-at-me spell was especially useful for a pack living in a more densely populated region where encounters with normal humans and other magical creatures was more common. With pack magic, a werewolf could go completely unnoticed. Even if they got spotted, pack magic would lead a normal human to believe they saw a large dog rather than a werewolf.

Bran scowled. It was the same pack magic that should have kept him hidden in Whiterun.

Despite Lyz’s book making no mention of Tamrielic werewolves using pack magic, Bran suspected that pack magic was behind the incident in the market. The werewolf must have been using pack magic to hide its scent from Bran, or at least cause Bran to ignore it when it should have set off red flags.

That answer didn’t explain why the strange werewolf had watched them so closely in the market, however. Bran had been careful to behave just like any of the wolfhounds he had seen in Skyrim. Anyone who looked at him, except Lyz, had assumed that he was simply a mix between the local breed and a wolf, or possibly one of the dog breeds found in neighboring regions. Bran hadn’t done anything to draw attention to himself.

_Unless_ , Bran thought. Unless the other werewolf had sensed his pack magic somehow. It was a stretch. A werewolf would have an easier time sensing another werewolf’s magic than other creatures would. Still, Bran’s spell should have been subtle enough to avoid notice. Normally, it would take a pack or blood bond to see through a good look-not-at-me spell.

He gazed at Lyz who was still reading the book aloud. There was another possibility Bran hadn’t considered. What if the werewolf had been after Lyz instead of him? He could’ve been someone Lyz had stolen from in the past, or someone she had upset during one of her previous jobs. He could have been following her and waiting for the perfect opportunity to ambush her. The thought upset Bran enough that a growl slipped out of his throat.

Lyz looked up from the book. She gazed at him silently, no doubt piecing together his reaction to his earlier behavior. Experimentally, she placed the book down and reached for the door handle. Bran stopped her with a deep growl.

Lyz studied him. “We’re hiding from someone.”

Bran narrowed his eyes. Lyz always chose the worst times to be perceptive. The young woman tilted her head and hummed as if she was deep in thought. She would try to guess what had upset him, Bran predicted. And she would be wrong because he knew that she had not seen the werewolf in the market.

“We were being followed.”

Bran’s ear twitched.

“I didn’t see who you were staring at, but I saw you looking. I try to watch my back. It’s a skill you pick up quickly when you have a life like mine.” She walked until her face was level with Bran’s. “I didn’t see who was following us which meant that they were very good at hiding themselves. But you saw them. I saw your reaction in the market. Is that who we are hiding from?”

Bran cursed. He hadn’t noticed that Lyz had been watching him too. Sometimes he became so confident in his acting skills that he underestimated the people standing right next to him. Lyz hadn’t underestimated him though.

Lyz stepped back. “In that case, we can spend the rest of the day in the inn. No one entered the inn after us, so whoever was following us has given up the chase. Still,” she smiled at Bran. A fake smile. “It won’t hurt to spend the rest of the night here together. I have someone I need to speak to here anyway. Come with me. I want you to hear this.”

Before Bran could protest, Lyz opened the door and slipped back into the main part of the inn. Bran got up and raced after her.

_Where are you going?!_ Bran barked at her which she ignored, though it did earn him a couple nasty looks from the inn’s other patrons.

Lyz led him towards a dark corner cut off from the rest of the inn. Bran thought the secludedness of the room was unusual. The corner had a small hearth with a cooking pot set on top of it, so it could have once served as a small kitchen in the inn. But other than the hearth, the room was mostly empty.

Behind the cooking hearth, in the darkest part of the room sat a suspicious-looking man. Bran didn’t use the word suspicious lightly, considering the number of odd characters he regularly had to deal with as part of his role as the Marrok. But this man set off multiple alarm bells in Bran’s head.

The man had chosen the most hidden part of the inn to sit down and drink mead. Blackbriar mead, Bran’s nose told him. Although, it appeared that he had only taken one or two sips of the drink if any at all. That meant that the mead was just for show. A secret message.

If that wasn’t a big enough clue for Bran, the man’s behavior said the rest. Despite choosing the most secluded spot in the inn, the man’s eyes were constantly on the move. He had noticed them as soon as they had passed through the doors, but he continued to pretend-sip his mead as if he hadn’t noticed them at all.

Lyz stopped beside him, face going blank. “Maven sent me your way,” she said in her Thieves Guild monotone voice.

The man smiled wickedly at her and Bran stepped between the two humans with a threatening growl. The man’s smile sharpened even further.

“Nice dog. I always wanted a dog as a child. But my father never let me. I think I will get one just like yours.”

His voice oozed venom and the only thing stopping Bran from lunging at the man was Lyz’s hand on his back. Lyz took the seat across from Bran, placing the table between her and the stranger. Bran relaxed fractionally.

“I’m waiting, Mallus.”

The leer fell from the Mallus’s face and morphed into a serious frown. “Fine. I’m going to keep this short and to the point because there is a lot of work to do. Honningbrew’s owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for Whiterun’s Captain of the Guard.” Mallus paused for effect. “And we are going to poison the mead.”

Mallus waited as if he expected Lyz to burst to her feet and shout indignantly. When Lyz simply stared at him blankly, he continued reluctantly.

“I have a brilliant plan to get the poison in the mead. The meadery has quite the pest problem and the whole city knows it. Pest poison and mead don’t mix well, you know what I mean?” The wicked smirk returned to Mallus’s face.

“So, what is my role in this?” Lyz asked.

“You, my dear beauty, are going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He’s going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you are going to ‘accidentally’ drop some of that poison into one of the brewing vats.”

Lyz chuckled. “Clever.”

Mallus nodded. “Maven and I spent weeks planning for this. All we need is someone like you to get in and get out without messing things up. A simple stealth and theft job. Maven told me that you are quite skilled at that type of work.”

The hand buried in Bran’s fur tensed infinitesimally then relaxed.

“I need a little more information than that. Most breweries don’t leave their vats out in the open where anyone could tamper with them. I doubt that Honningbrew Meadery is any different. How do I reach the vats?”

Mallus waved a hand at her. “I already took care of that. I left a spare key out for you to find inside one of the barrels in the storage room. If you end up needing it, all you have to do is steal the key and use it to enter the basement. From there, make your way into the vat room and break the lock.”

“Is there anything else you would like to tell me? Anything that I might need to know before doing this job?”

“Nope.”

That was a lie. Bran nosed Lyz’s hand, but she silenced him with a nudge. Bran guessed that it wasn’t unusual for these types of people to keep secrets. Still, Bran found Mallus’s smile unnerving.

Lyz nodded. “Very well. That should be everything. I will be paying the meadery a visit in the morning.”

“Fine. Just make sure you get there before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do his dirty work.”

Lyz stood up, but Mallus grabbed her hand before she could leave. He placed a kiss on her hand and gave her another disgusting smile.

Bran snapped his teeth at Mallus who immediately pulled his hand away. The sudden move surprised Mallus enough that he fell out of his seat and tumbled to the ground. Mallus scrambled to his feet and glared at Bran with a shocked look.

“Careful,” Lyz grinned. “He bites.”

Bran flashed his impressive fangs at Mallus, causing him to take another step back. Lyz got up with a cold smile and motioned for Bran to follow her as she walked away. Once they were out of the room, Lyz bent down and ruffled the wolf’s ears.

“Sometimes clients forget who they are messing with,” Lyz said. “Just because I am accepting a job from you doesn’t mean you won’t end up with a knife in your throat if you keep pushing your luck. Thank you.”

Bran gave her a toothy grin as they walked back to their room. He, too, enjoyed putting creeps in their place. And he would happily do it again if another person gave Lyz trouble.

They slipped back into their room, the space now comfortably warm despite the cooling temperatures outside. Bran watched as Lyz climbed into bed and slipped underneath the sheets. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Soon, her quiet snores filled the room.

Usually, she read a book before going to sleep. The journey must have tired her out more than Bran had realized. If she was this tired, she would most likely be out cold for the entire night. Bran thought back to the werewolf who had watched them in the market earlier that day. The werewolf’s eyes had looked hungry. If someone came into their room and attacked them, she might take too long to wake up and defend herself.

Bran climbed onto the bed, careful not to disturb Lyz’s sleep. He settled down on the open side of the bed and turned to face the door.

There. If the werewolf came to attack them, Bran would be ready to defend both of them. As his eyes drifted closed, he could have sworn he felt a gentle hand stroking his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next chapter should come next weekend!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Lyz take on an extermination job at Honningbrew Meadery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally managed to find enough time to finish this chapter and get it out.

Lyz entered the meadery first. The front door led into a lobby where a nord man busied himself dusting off a counter and rearranging decorations. His back was to them, and he didn’t notice the pair as they walked in. Bran was overwhelmed by the scent of honey and alcohol as he followed her inside. His mouth watered at the thought of drinking mead. Alcohol didn’t affect werewolves that well, but Bran still enjoyed the taste of many drinks.

In Aspen Creek, Bran had made a habit of hiding a couple bottles of alcohol in his office where none of his wolves could find them. Once in a while, he would pour himself a glass of wine and drink while listening to music.

He didn’t have as many opportunities to drink now that he was stuck in wolf form. He didn’t exactly have money or the means to purchase his own alcohol now. He had once attempted to sample one of the drinks Lyz had purchased at an inn when she wasn’t looking, but she had caught him in the act and quickly scolded him for trying to steal her drink.

“Dogs, magic or otherwise, are not supposed to drink alcohol,” she had said as she snatched the bottle of wine away from him. Bran had loudly grumbled in protest for the rest of the night.

Bran sniffed again and wrinkled his nose. There was a strange odor underneath the scent of mead. It was coming from something rotten and odious. He glanced to his right to spot a giant rat creature laying in a puddle of blood. He blinked at it in surprise. It was nearly as big as him.

_What the--_

The man cleaning the counter suddenly looked up. He locked eyes with the pair and scowled in disgust.

“A dog? Really? Don’t I have enough animals to deal with? I don’t need another scrounger coming in here with their dirty pets.”

Lyz smiled at him with fake sweetness. “Actually, I came at the request of a,” she paused as if she was struggling to recall a name, “Mallus Maccius? Said that there was work available here?”

The man let out a loud groan and tossed a soiled rag into a bucket behind him. “So that lazy, good-for-nothing assistant sent you here? As if I need more people to take my money and disappear with it.” He shook his head. “I don’t have time for your nonsense. Go beg elsewhere.”

“I was under the impression that you were seeking pest control services.” Lyz stated before the nord could shoo the pair back outside. “I even brought all of my equipment with me.” She raised her pack so that he could see it.

The nord raised his eyebrows and backtracked immediately. “A-Actually, why don’t you stay for a bit? Here, try the mead.” He placed a bottle of mead on the counter.

Lyz grabbed the bottle of mead and took a sip. “Mmm. That’s some good mead.”

The nord nodded. “Yes. It’s the best in Skyrim. Better than that Blackbriar mead everyone is forced to ingest. The name’s Sabjorn by the way.”

Lyz nodded. “I’m Annabelle,” she lied smoothly. “And this right here is my partner Meeko. He mainly specializes in skeever extermination, but he can handle other pests too.”

Sabjorn’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “You don’t say? In that case, it seems that some work is available for someone with your particular set of skills.”

Lyz’s smile was absolutely saccharine. “Of course. But you must understand that I expect to be paid for my services.”

“You will be paid only after the job is done,” Sabjorn sniffed.

“I only work if I am guaranteed to get paid by the end of it.” Lyz didn’t even blink when Sabjorn sneered stubbornly at her. “Or I can run through the streets of Whiterun screaming about skeevers in the Honningbrew Meadery to anyone who will listen.”

“Fine, fine. Take the money and shut your trap.” Sabjorn reluctantly handed some coins to Lyz. “There is half of the payment. You will receive the other half when all the skeevers are dead.”

Lyz counted out the coins before sticking them in her purse. “It looks like we have ourselves a deal.” Lyz held out a hand and Sabjorn reluctantly shook it.

“I hope I don’t end up regretting this,” Sabjorn sighed. “Take this poison. I was going to have my lazy, good-for-nothing assistant Mallus handle it, but he seems to have vanished. Plant this in the vermin’s nest and that should eliminate them. Get it done before my guests arrive and you will receive the other half of the payment.”

Sabjorn handed over a pouch full of skeever poison and a key. Lyz took the items with a smile and walked towards one of the side doors. Sabjorn frowned at the dead skeever.

“Look at this mess. Damn vermin.”

The pair walked past the barrels in the storage room, went down the stairs and unlocked a second set of doors with a key. Before leaving the storage room, Lyz grabbed the key Mallus had left for her.

“Looks like we won’t be needing this,” she said to Bran. “But I’d rather keep this with me than risk Sabjorn finding it and wondering why there is a spare key inside one of his barrels.” She slipped the key into a pouch on Bran’s vest and walked towards the door leading below the storage room.

The door opened up into a dark basement. Bran had to rely on his night vision to avoid the mess on the floor. A couple large barrels were lined up along the sides of the basement. Some of the barrels reeked of the sickly-sweet scent of deathbell. He made sure to keep his distance from those barrels. Scattered across the floor here and there were bear traps and the corpses of dead skeevers caught inside. The smell was awful.

Bran had encountered the rat-like creatures in Riften in the past. They liked to scurry around in and out of the sewers, and he occasionally spotted them lurking in the market after dark. They would chew up the wooden stands and steal food off the ground. They hissed at anyone who got too close.

Skeevers reminded Bran of city rats, except city rats didn’t usually attack people even when threatened. Nor were city rats the size of dogs with sharper fangs and meaner claws. They didn’t spare werewolves from their aggressiveness either. Bran had quickly grown to despise skeevers.

A skeever was meandering around at the other end of the basement. It found a puddle of mead that had leaked out of one of the barrels and started lapping the alcohol off the ground. Lyz frowned in disgust and shot the skeever with her ethereal bow. The arrow went through the skeever’s head, killing it instantly. The pair carefully stepped around the traps littering the ground and approached the skeever. Lyz nudged the body with her foot.

“That’s one down. Sounds like there’s more down that way though.” She pointed towards an opening in the wall leading down into a cave. “Huh. I get the feeling that that hole isn’t supposed to be there.”

Bran woofed in agreement. The hole looked rough around the edges, as if several sets of teeth had chewed away at the earth and stone until the passageway had formed. He sniffed at the skeever’s body curiously. Like the dead skeever in the main hall, this skeever was unusually big. Its mouth reeked of mead. The skeever must have been really fond of alcohol and gotten fat from drinking so much, Bran figured. He paused. Wait. It wasn’t just its mouth that reeked of mead. Its nose too? Not the nose itself, however, but it’s mucus and saliva. Almost as if the skeever was salivating mead? Bran eyed the skeever oddly before following Lyz through the opening in the wall.

The opening led down into an underground cave. A cave which was also infested with skeevers. As they fought and killed more skeevers, it became more apparent that more of the skeevers also smelled strongly of mead. Too strongly to have been from them consuming the drink. In fact, the scent of mead and stench of skeever was beginning to intermix into one single smell. Did mead consumption alter their scent in some way?

“You know,” Lyz said flatly. “If I wanted to deal with this many skeevers, I would take a walk in the Ratway. How does one business manage to attract so many skeevers?”

Bran rumbled in agreement. The amount of skeevers was starting to get excessive. If he ever returned to his human form, he would have to remember to never drink Honningbrew mead. He preferred his drinks without the risk of skeever poos floating in it.

Lyz tried to wipe a saliva stain off her pants and sighed when she ended up smearing it instead. “When this job is over, I am going to need to take a long, hot bath in some imported elf cup extract.”

Lyz took two steps forward and walked face-first into a spider web. She flailed her arms and spat out bits of web that had gotten caught in her mouth. “Bleh! Bleh! Damn spiders. Always leaving their damn webs all over the place. Ick. Ew.”

Bran snickered. He wasn’t particularly excited about the possibility of facing spiders alongside skeevers but he would take his entertainment wherever he could get it. Lyz noticed him laughing and made a rude gesture at him before walking into another spider web and shrieking. Bran ended up with a wheezing fit by the time he stopped laughing.

They found the spiders responsible for creating the webs a little further into the cave. Bran was glad these spiders did not exist on Earth. Frostbite spiders were big, hairy and noisy enough that you could hear their mandibles rubbing against each other. Their venom, while not usually fatal, burned like fire and stung like ice at the same time. Frostbite spider infestations were hard to remedy because the spiders were highly aggressive and resilient enough to go weeks without food.

Bran did not stop Lyz when she abandoned her bow in favor of hurling fireballs at the nightmarish arachnids. The spiders burst into flames and scuttled after them. Bran dispatched any spiders that had managed to get too close to them while Lyz continued to launch fireballs.

“Cleanse the ugly with fire!”

Once they had killed all the spiders, they advanced further into the cave. Thankfully, there were no more spiders, but there were still many obstacles left for them to deal with. As they continued, they came across more traps. The traps seemed rather normal at first. Another bear trap. Another batch of skeever poison. But then they became… excessive. Bran paused when he came across a tripwire with a ball-and-chain attached to it. The spiked ball was positioned much too high to hit skeevers. In fact, it looked like it had been set up to nail a person in the face as they stepped across the wire.

 _Huh_ , Bran thought.

They went further into the cave. The passageway opened up into a large opening and the stench of mead and skeever became overpowering. They must be close to the nest. Bran peeked around the corner and saw several skeevers lying in wait. These skeevers were larger than the ones they had encountered earlier. Looked meaner too. They smelled strongly of mead.

Lyz looked down at Bran and cast a protection spell on him. He felt the magic fall over him and cling to his vest tighter than it did his fur. The spell was apparently built for bespelling clothing not people. Once upon a time, casting a spell on Bran would have gotten Lyz’s hand bitten off. Now, Bran accepted the helpful spells with reluctant happiness. Lyz casted the same spell on herself then summoned two dark blades that hummed with magic. At Lyz’s signal, they charged into the cave with a battlecry.

They cut down the skeevers left and right. Most of them were dispatched before they had a chance to react. One skeever managed to graze its teeth against Bran’s leg and he felt a sting settle into the limb. He ignored it and whirled around to sink his teeth into the skeever’s neck before tossing it aside.

Bran had just downed a third skeever when a blast of magic whipped past his head. Lightning cracked against the cave wall behind him with a boom. He looked up to see a gaunt and wild-eyed man stumble out from a corner of the cave and send another blast of electricity their way. The lightning bolt struck Lyz’s side and caused her leg to collapse underneath her. She let out a cry of pain as she stumbled back to her feet. She threw up a ward in time to block the second lightning bolt, but it was clear that the effort was straining her.

“A little help here, pup.” She was breathing heavily.

Bran ignored the ache in his leg and raced towards the attacking mage. The mage had grown bored with throwing lightning bolts and had switched to blasting Lyz with a stream of fire. The heat stung Bran’s eyes as he slipped beneath the flames and sank his teeth into the man’s leg. The man howled in pain and pulled out a dagger. But before he could stab Bran, Lyz leapt out from behind her ward and sank one of her blades into his chest. The man shrieked and flailed wildly before collapsing onto the ground.

Lyz and Bran stood in silence and tried to catch their breaths. The ache in Bran’s leg was intensifying by the second and he wasn’t sure why. There was also a scratch on his cheek where one of the skeevers must have managed to nail him. He chuffed at Lyz and motioned towards his injury.

“Sorry,” Lyz gasped. “Blocking that lightning bolt sapped away all the magic I had left in my body. It’s going to be awhile before I can heal you.”

Lyz stumbled over to where the dead mage lay and searched his pocket. She pulled out an extremely worn journal.

“Strange that a man was hiding underneath the meadery. Let’s see why he was down here.” She opened the journal and skimmed through the notes. “Ten years… apprentice alchemist… laboratory… same ingredients….” She frowned. “Same ingredients?”

Lyz glanced at the journal, back towards the dead mage, then back at Bran. She gave a horrified look.

“In the name of Namira the Rotten, get me out of here.”

Bran stared at the journal, completely perturbed. What did it say? Why did Lyz look so disturbed? He tried reaching for the journal, but Lyz stepped away and stuffed it into her bag.

“No. Trust me. You don’t want to read this.”

Bran was about to protest when the muscle in his leg began spasming. Lyz heard his yelp of pain and bent down to inspect the leg. His muscles jumped when her fingers brushed against them.

“It appears that the skeevers’ bite is venomous. Nothing too serious though. Here. Drink this potion and that should clear it up.”

She uncorked a small white vial and offered it to him. He gave the contents a sniff before downing it. It tasted as bad as it smelled. But like Lyz had said, it removed the ache in his leg. It did nothing about the scratch on his face though. Lyz stroked the cut on his face and he felt her magic weave the skin back together. She stepped away once he was fully healed.

Bran whined when she didn’t heal her own wounds.

“Sorry,” Lyz said. “Still low on magic. For all we know, there are more skeevers further down. I’m going to save whatever magic I have left and use a potion instead.”

She opened one of the red bottles and downed the health potion. She sighed and a faint puff of steam left her lips. Health potions worked by speeding up a person’s metabolic rate so that they healed faster, Bran remembered. The last health potion he had consumed had made him feel hot and sticky but otherwise healthy. He found that they were quite useful for staving off death in a pinch. He waited for Lyz to shake off the effects of the potion before they moved on.

Minus the small holdup while Lyz looted the potions from the mage’s hidden shop, poisoned some skeever nests and -- Bran winced -- harvested some of the skeevers’ tails, the rest of the trip through the cave was rather straightforward. The cave looped back into a separate part of the basement that had originally been blocked by a locked door.

There were no skeevers in this room, but they did find a door that, unlike the doors in the rest of the meadery, had been left unlocked. Bran suspected Mallus had something to do with that. When they pushed through the door, it led straight into a room filled with large vats. The boiler room.

Gigantic vats full of fermenting mead sat above large wood-fed fires and released billows of steam that smelled strongly of yeast and honey. Lyz went up the stairs and bent over one of the vats.

“Mmm, mead. My favorite drink. Blackbriar mead is spicier, but Honningbrew is much sweeter.” She looked at Bran. “Don’t tell Maven I said that.”

Bran nodded and grinned sneakily as if they were both in on a dark secret. Lyz laughed at the expression. She walked over to one of the vats and carefully tipped the lid open. She took the remaining poison out of her pocket and held it out over the vat, but Bran stayed her hand before she could toss the poison in.

Bran could tolerate theft and bribery, or even intimidation. But poisoning someone seemed too extreme even for him. If he was going to kill someone, he would prefer the straightforward approach of confronting them directly. Poisoning someone’s food just seemed… too unethical to him, and he wasn’t going to allow Lyz to go through with it. He didn’t care if she got mad at him. Besides, how many people would drink the poisoned mead before they realized what had gone wrong? How many innocent people would die?

Lyz looked at him curiously. Her eyes seemed to dig past his face and probe his thoughts.

“You don’t want me to poison the mead.” She said it like it was a statement rather than a question. “You don’t want anyone to die.”

Bran swallowed and tugged her hand away from the vat.

“This is the life I live, pup. People must die so that I can survive. Their lives are meaningless to me. Nothing is more important than the Guild.”

Lie. Lie lie lie. Her words reeked so much of lies that he almost sneezed. He let out a furious growl. Did she really believe Bran would fall for such a blatant lie? He nipped her arm for good measure.

Lyz chuckled at his indignant gesture and ruffled his ears. Then she gave him an unusually soft look that caused him to stiffen.

“Not even you could fall for my bullshit.” She smiled softly. “Most of the Guild thinks that I was given this job because I took one of Maven’s prized horses. But there is another reason why I was given this job. Maven wanted to get rid of a competitor, but Mercer wanted me to prove my loyalty. I’ve been less devoted to the Guild over the years and I guess it’s starting to show. I imagine that Mercer believes that if I’m willing to kill for the Guild, then I can be trusted.”

 _Why does Mercer doubt you?_ Bran wanted to ask her. He touched his nose to her chin, and she sighed as her hand shifted towards petting his scruff.

“Brynjolf had been trying to warn me last night. But you followed us to the hideout and upset Mercer even further. I never told him about you and that didn’t make him happy.” She closed her eyes. “Brynjolf wouldn’t try to force me to kill someone. It’s not how the Thieves Guild is meant to operate. But Mercer feels differently.”

Bran swallowed the instinctive anger he felt in response to the red-headed thief’s name. He was _not_ thinking about the way the master thief had placed his hand on Lyz’s arm before they disappeared into the night. He was not thinking about that.

“So, what do I do now?” She murmured into his ear. “Do I use the poison and secure my standing in the Guild, or do I use the weaker poison I secretly made and risk exile?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Left it at a bit of a cliffhanger there. Bran and Lyz will be returning to Whiterun next chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

Bran looked up as she gazed at him with her dark gray eyes. She was asking him to decide for her?

Lyz was a thief. She was someone who stole from others, killed people and looted from their bodies. She was not someone with a strong sense of morality. A choice like this should have been easy for someone who was more concerned with their own survival than the survival of others. But Lyz was more complicated than that. She had helped people even when she didn’t need to. She read books with Bran every night and cook delicious meals before bed. She liked to drink most kinds of mead but was particular about how she made canis root tea. She killed willfully but hated necromancers.

Lyz was a mysterious person who Bran was only beginning to understand. The hesitation in her eyes as she held the bag of poison said so much yet gave little away. And now she was asking him to decide whether she sacrificed countless people to prove her loyalty to her guild. Bran knew what chose he would have made, but he wanted her to decide for herself.

He stepped back and looked at her expectantly. Lyz sighed.

“I had a feeling you would make me choose.”

Lyz stared at the vat silently. Her expression was flat, but Bran did not miss the twinkle of sadness in her eyes. Slowly, she pulled a separate pouch out of her pocket and poured the contents into the vat. Then she stood back and watched as the powder swirled around the inside of the vat before sinking into the mead.

“It’s done,” she said softly.

Bran pressed himself against Lyz’s leg. He hoped that she could find comfort in the warmth of his body. He pretended that he couldn’t see her hands shaking.

Lyz didn’t say anything else to him. Instead, she shut the vat’s lid and walked towards the exit. She unlocked the door, and Bran followed her back into the lobby of the meadery.

When they re-entered the lobby, they found Sabjorn furiously scrubbing the last bit of blood off the floor. Sabjorn looked up at Lyz expectantly.

“Took you long enough. The commander is almost here. Did you take care of the ‘problem’?”

Lyz nodded, her face blank. “They are all dead. All of them.”

Sabjorn blinked at her strangely. “Right…. Anyway, I need to grab some mead from the storage room. Wait here and I’ll give you the rest of your money.”

Lyz obediently sat down at one of the tables with Bran curled up at her feet. While they waited for Sabjorn to return, the doors to the meadery opened and Mallus arrived with a man dressed in imperial armor in tow. Mallus glanced in Lyz’s direction and smiled sweetly. Bran returned a smile of his own. Mallus stopped smiling.

“Well then?” The armored man demanded. “Where is Sabjorn? He said he would be here.”

“He must be out back,” Mallus answered. “I’m sure he wouldn’t keep you waiting long, Commander.”

The commander scowled but did not say anything else. Lyz ignored the pair and chewed on a sweet roll she had purchased in Whiterun. The commander paid her no heed. As far as he was concerned, Lyz was just an employee on break. Sabjorn walked into the lobby and froze when he saw the commander. He gawked at the commander momentarily before giving him a tense smile.

“Commander Caius,” Sabjorn greeted. “You’re here early.”

Caius glared at him. “You kept me waiting. For a moment, I thought that you had stood me up.”

“O-of course not. I have a fresh supply of mead right here.” Sabjorn placed a keg on the counter. “The best Honningbrew Reserve in Skyrim.”

“Hmph. I’ll see about that.”

Everyone waited with bated breath as Commander Caius poured a cupful of mead out of the keg and took a sip. Caius’s face twisted in disgust as he spat out the mead and cursed loudly.

“By the Eight! What did you put in this mead? It is utterly vile!”

Sabjorn recoiled. “Wh-what do you mean? It’s the best mead we have.”

“Did you poison this?” Commander Caius’s face reddened with anger. “You assured me this place was clean! I’ll,” Caius gagged. “I’ll see to it that this place gets shut down and you never serve mead again.”

Sabjorn backed away. “Now please! I can explain--”

“Silence, you idiot,” Caius snapped. “I should have known better than to trust this place after it became riddled with filth.”

Caius twisted Sabjorn’s arms behind his back and slapped a pair of cuffs on him. Sabjorn looked from Lyz to Mallus in desperation. Lyz continued to ignore the three men while Mallus simply watched silently. As Caius led Sabjorn away, he paused beside Mallus.

“You! You are in charge of this place until I sort things out.”

Mallus smirked. “It will be my pleasure.”

“And you.” Caius yanked Sabjorn around. “You are coming with me. Off to Dragonsreach with you. We’ll jog your memory real quick in the city’s prison.” He gagged again. “Now move.”

Caius shoved Sabjorn forward and the two walked out of the meadery. As the doors swung shut, Bran could still pick up the sounds of their voices.

“I assure you this is a huge misunderstanding!”

Caius placed his hand on his sword. “I said _move_. Ugh.”

There was a gushing sound as if someone was vomiting. Then the sound of their voices disappeared entirely. Once the two men were gone, Mallus turned towards Lyz.

“That went better than expected. The poison seemed to be more effective than anticipated.” He looked at Lyz with a knowing suspicion that neither Bran nor Lyz reacted to. “Anything else you’d like before you head back to Riften?”

“I need to look at Sabjorn’s books. Maven asked for them.”

“So Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn’s private partner, huh? Go look in Sabjorn’s office. He usually keeps his papers in there. Take this.”

Mallus handed Lyz a key. She got up to head towards Sabjorn’s office but paused before she left the lobby.

“You know,” Lyz said quietly. “You didn’t mention the lunatic living underneath the meadery.”

“Oh that? That wasn’t too important. I chose to leave that part out so you wouldn’t back out of the job. Besides, you’ve done Maven a favor by getting rid of both him and Sabjorn and saved me from having to waste coin to hire someone to deal with the maniac later.”

Bran was furious. He’d known about that skeever-obsessed psycho all along? Mallus could have gotten them both killed. If Lyz hadn’t been a mage, or worse, if she had been alone, she probably would have been overpowered and killed.

Bran took a threatening step towards Mallus, but Lyz stopped him.

“Not now.”

Bran snarled angrily at Lyz then bared his teeth at Mallus.

“We have work to do.”

Mallus smirked, but his eyes watched Bran warily. “Be a good boy and listen to your master,” he goaded.

Lyz put her hand on the door to Sabjorn’s office and paused when Bran refused to move. She narrowed her eyes. “Pup. _Not now._ ”

Mallus sneered at Bran, and Bran sneered back before turning his back on the terrible excuse for a human being and following Lyz into the office. Bran watched Lyz’s back while she searched Sabjorn’s desk and retrieved the documents Maven had asked for. When they returned to the entrance, Mallus had moved behind the counter and was wiping down the already cleaned counter. Sabjorn had only just been arrested, yet Mallus was already making himself at home. Bran chose to ignore the man this time. He just wanted to leave with Lyz and not have to see Mallus’s face again. They went out the door and headed down the road back to Whiterun.

“Well, there goes my guild membership.” Lyz laughed mirthlessly.

Bran licked her hand and whimpered sympathetically. He didn’t know what Lyz’s relationship with the guild was like before he had arrived, but he assumed that it must have been important to her if she was this upset. Bran had an idea to cheer her up. But first, he had a question.

The wolf nudged her hand and Lyz looked down at him inquisitively. He tilted his head at her.

“You have a question? What about?”

Bran looked at the pouch of Sabjorn’s poison and woofed.

Lyz’s expression soured. “I’m not keeping it. It’s too strong for blackmail and too weak to be used in a fight.”

Bran shook his head. He wasn’t asking about the poison. He nudged her hand again and gazed up at her.

“What the… you want me to pet you?”

Bran shook his head.

“You’re hungry?”

Bran shook his head.

“But you have a question?”

Bran nodded.

“What is the question?”

Bran grew frustrated and placed his paws on her chest. He stuck his nose in her face and poked her forehead.

“You’re asking about me?”

Bran woofed.

Lyz’s expression darkened and she looked away. She took a step back, and Bran’s paws slid off her chest. She took a deep breath and folded her arms.

“No.”

Lyz continued walking and Bran paced after her. Bran wasn’t satisfied with her short answer. He had followed her long enough to warrant getting to know her better. She had already opened up to him about her past before, even if it was just a little. He felt that now was about time that he started learning more. Especially now that it appeared that things were going to change.

Bran walked along Lyz’s side and gave her a stubborn glare. At first, Lyz ignored him. But his unblinking glare must have been getting underneath her skin because she huffed and started walking faster. Bran walked faster too. Eventually, Bran stepped into her path, causing Lyz to trip over him.

“What?!” Lyz roared at him.

Bran placed a paw on her chest again and tilted his head.

Lyz opened her mouth and let out a stream of curses that would probably make any woman cover her husband’s ears and shoot death glares their way.

“All I want is to go back to the inn, curl up under the sheets and sleep until this nightmare of a mess is over. Is that too much to ask for?”

Bran woofed affirmatively.

Lyz gave him a sour look. “Fine. Fine! Have it your way. You want an explanation? You can get it. I joined the Thieves Guild a couple years ago because I needed the money. I stayed because stealing valuables from angry nobles’ houses was fun. Also, believe it or not, I enjoyed the other members’ company. It’s rough living in Skyrim when you don’t have anyone to lean on.”

She sighed and dragged her palm across her face. “And now, I’m leaving because it is currently under bad leadership and I’d rather make my own choices about what I do then see myself and the Thieves Guild be turned into something awful. Is that enough, or did you feel like prying some more?”

Bran nodded. No. But he didn’t feel like pushing Lyz’s buttons any further. She was already looking at him like she thought he would make a nice fur coat.

Lyz sighed tiredly. “Let’s just head back to Whiterun and relax for now. I have to send these papers off to Maven as well as a letter of resignation to Brynjolf. How about I read you a story tonight? I found an interesting vampire book in our room this morning.”

Bran wagged his tail. Another story would be nice. His idea would have to wait until another day.

* * *

Bran waited until Lyz was fast asleep before slipping out of the inn. It had been a long day and he really needed to go out for some fresh air. More importantly, he needed to do a little investigating.

He checked the air as he slipped out of the inn but couldn’t smell the werewolf from earlier. He couldn’t see the werewolf hiding anywhere either. All he could see were two guards napping at the edge of the market. Whiterun’s guards were apparently top-notch.

Bran didn’t think that the werewolf was still around, but he preferred to be careful. It was odd that the werewolf had spotted him but made no attempts to approach or corner Bran. Still, Bran expected that he had little to worry about. He had already killed one mad wolf, and another would not prove to be a challenge. Especially, now that he knew what he was going up against. Skyrim’s werewolves may be bigger, but Bran was smarter.

Bran let his scant pack magic fall over him like a cloak as he walked through Whiterun. He kept to the shadows, allowing his gray coat to help him blend in with the stony environment. When he reached the gate, he waited for a guard to pass through the gateway before slipping through the gate as it was closing.

Whiterun’s main gate opened into a wide, open plain. The region was dotted with mountain flowers, tundra cotton and small clusters of lavender. Here and there, Bran caught the scent of elk. Unfortunately, the scent trails were old. Skyrim’s elk weren’t as active at night.

He wandered down towards a creek where mudcrabs clustered around a humming nirnroot. He lapped at the cool water and set his nose back to work. As he followed the scent trail of a fox, his mind went to work.

Lyz had told him that she was leaving the Thieves Guild. He wondered what implications that would have in the future. All of their most significant outings had been related to the Thieves Guild in some way. Besides completing jobs, it seemed that Lyz didn’t have too many reasons to leave the Rift. Bran worried that her departure from the Guild would mean more time spent in Riften and less time spent visiting other holds. Worse, it meant that they would have less access to the Thieves Guild’s information network. All of the traders, thieves and nobles that the guild did work with carried tidbits of information about what was taking place in Skyrim and neighboring regions. If Lyz was forced out of the Thieves Guild, Bran would also lose access to this network.

Bran didn’t want either of those changes to happen. Each adventure opened up another opportunity to learn more about the witches who had attacked him and how he could possibly get back home. If Lyz stopped leaving Riften, Bran might have to leave the city without her.

The thought caused the hairs on his back to rise. Bran didn’t want to leave Lyz behind. Sure, he knew enough about Skyrim now that he could probably get by without her help. But he had also grown rather fond of the woman. Sure, some of her habits nearly drove him insane, but she also possessed several quirks that Bran found endearing. He also knew that she was withholding a lot of information about her life prior to joining the Thieves Guild. The mystery was driving him insane with curiosity. He wished that Lyz would tell him who she was and how she came to be the person she was today, and it bothered him that she was so quick to rebuke his questions.

But was Bran not doing the same? Lyz still didn’t know that he was a werewolf. And he had no intention of telling her any time soon.

The scent trail ended abruptly before the fox’s burrow which tunneled its way underneath a tree, much to Bran’s disappointment. No way he was going to be able to fit down there.

Lyz had become someone who mattered to Bran. He wasn’t going to bother denying it no matter how inconvenient it was. But at the end of the day, getting back home was his main priority. No matter how much the mysterious woman interested him, he had to stay focused on his goal. No distractions.

Bran gave up on the fox. It had made its way back to its den before Bran could catch it and there was no way it was going to come back out while Bran was there. He left the burrow site and padded up to a ruined house nearby.

The civil war still raged in Skyrim. The Stormcloaks fought the Empire, and the Empire fought the Stormcloaks. Many innocent people were caught in the middle and had to pay the price for a war they didn’t start. Bran guessed that this house had been abandoned due to the civil war. Or perhaps it had been destroyed by a fire. Most of the walls had eroded away and the roof had collapsed. The interior of the house was devoid of any valuables or furniture, everything already being looted by bandits and explorers. Bran stood in the middle of the wreckage and looked through the gaps in the roof.

Even from here, he could see the stars. They bore no resemblance to the stars he had grown up with, but even then, they still reminded him of home. Stars were still stars even if they formed different constellations. If he looked closely, he could spot the faint shine of an aurora. A common sight when one was as far north as Skyrim. This region, Bran felt, had a hidden beauty that even one as old as he was could appreciate.

Bran watched as the moons hung eerily behind the passing clouds, his mind caught in their eerie and unfamiliar pull. That’s why he wasn’t prepared when he was grabbed from behind.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit this chapter SO many times to get it to sound more cohesive. And I still have the next couple of chapters left to fix. D:>

Bran’s stomach felt like it had been into a hurricane. Bile rose in his throat at the explosion of noxious chemicals bombarding his nose. He flailed wildly as a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist and threw him against the wall. He tried to stand, but the poisonous fumes pulled the air from his lungs and ripped consciousness from his grip.

* * *

Tawny fur brushed against his side. A familiar scent caused him to open his eyes. He blinked slowly as a form took shape before him.

“Leah,” he murmured with a voice he had thought he’d lost.

“Bran,” Leah responded evenly. She sat on the sandy earth beside him. She was wearing a yellow sundress and had her hair tied back into a ponytail. She stared down at him with strange eyes.

Bran sat up, only realizing that he was in human form as he did so. He looked around in confusion. They sat at the edge of a beach. They were too far away from the water to risk getting wet, but they were still close enough to taste the ocean breeze.

“Where are we?” He blinked as a dock with a large ferris wheel came into view. “We haven’t visited this beach in years. How did we get here?”

“You don’t remember?” Leah chuckled in amusement.

Bran gaped at her bright expression. The sun beat down on them overhead. The sand stuck in his sandals was irritating his feet.

Had Skyrim been a dream? He considered that everything he had experienced -- witches, dragons and all -- had all been a figment of his imagination. Fingers stroked his chin and he looked back at Leah.

“Bran Cornick?” Leah’s voice was stronger this time. “Tell me what you feel.”

Bran couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He couldn’t stop marveling at the way her chest rose with each breath. The way her skin sparkled with health. The way her heart beat against her throat as he touched her neck.

“Is this real?” He whispered. “Are you really alive?”

Leah smiled. “It’s not real yet. But it could be. But first, there is something I need you to do.” She leaned close until her lips were pressed against his ear. “Wake up.”

* * *

Bran awoke to darkness. For some reason, he thought that he was on a beach, then abruptly recalled what had actually occurred. He was ambushed. Poisoned.

He blinked several times and was still unable to see. At first, he worried that the poison had robbed him of his eyesight. Then his eyes adjusted, and he realized that he was inside a dark cave. Dread crept up his spine as he realized that he had been knocked out and kidnapped. For a moment, he believed he had been recaptured by the Silver Hand. But the damp air lacked the odious scent of blood and fear. Moreso, he did not feel the familiar ache of silver against his skin. In fact, he could smell no silver whatsoever. Strange. Even regular bandits occasionally carried silver weapons or had armor crafted from the metal.

Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived as his poison-addled brain caught up with his nose. He took another deep breath and his nose filled with the scent of werewolves. Many, many werewolves. And they were very close to him.

He caught a glimpse of an opening in the cave wall nearby and quickly came up with an escape plan. Without warning, he rolled onto his paws and sprang towards the exit. He made it about two bounds before a large shadow crashed on top of him and flung him back towards the other end of the cave. He slammed against the cave wall hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs and cause him to collapse on the ground gasping for air.

“Crafty one, aren’tcha?” A coarse voice said. “Thought you could sneak past us before we had a chance to react. You underestimate the strength of werewolves as you must be aware that we are by now.”

Bran’s eyes drifted towards the source of the voice, a middle-aged man leaning against the cave wall. To his right stood the werewolf from the market and on his left stood another man who could have been the market werewolf’s twin. The werewolf who had thrown Bran was crouched on all fours in front of the cave’s entrance. Its yellow eyes gleamed wickedly at Bran.

“This is the one you told us about?” The market werewolf’s twin said. “I thought he’d be bigger.”

“I thought he’d be smarter,” the market werewolf responded. He took a step towards Bran. The scars along his face pulled at his cheek as he bared his teeth. “Who are you, rogue? Why are you in our territory?”

Bran kept his mouth shut. If they were asking questions, it meant that they didn’t know he couldn’t talk. If they didn’t know he couldn’t talk, that meant that they didn’t really know who or what he was. He should keep it that way. Instead, he got to his feet and glowered at the man.

Market werewolf narrowed his eyes when Bran didn’t respond. The werewolf standing beside him took a deep breath.

“He smells like one of us, but different. Are you sure he is like us? He might just be some strange-looking wolf.”

Market werewolf shook his head. “I saw him with a human woman near Honningbrew Meadery. He behaved too intelligently to be a regular wolf.”

Bran cursed mentally. He didn’t know that they had followed him to the meadery. Plus, they had seen Lyz with him twice. They could have gone after her while he was away from the inn and he would have no idea. He should’ve stayed with her.

“Maybe Hircine sent him,” the market werewolf’s twin said warily. “Doesn’t Hircine have a form that looks just like a wolf?”

The werewolves shifted uncomfortably. The mention of Hircine made them visibly uncomfortable, as if they knew the Daedric Prince personally. Bran opened his mouth, then he remembered that he couldn’t speak. That was the most inconvenient part of his predicament. Not being able to speak when it was immediately valuable. Sure, there were other ways of getting around speech but not without revealing just how intelligent he actually was.

Still, he considered, if they believed that he had ties to Hircine, he could use that to his advantage. At the bare minimum, it could allow him to escape without them killing him. But first, he needed to find a way to talk. He tried communicating with the werewolves mentally, remembering how he had once spoken to his pack through the pack bonds. But despite their similar blood, his magic couldn’t make up for the lack of pack bonds as the werewolves continued to bicker amongst themselves.

“Hircine could have discovered what we’re up to. He could have sent this one to punish us.”

“If that were the case, there would have been a Blood Moon. I checked. Secunda still looks the same.”

“If he is not an aspect of Hircine, then what is he? He smells like a werewolf but looks nothing like one. Maybe this one is a different type of lycanthrope. Can wolves be made into werewolves?”

“Farkas, that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”

Bran tensed as the werewolves continued arguing. Something about their behavior seemed off and it was making the hair on Bran’s back stand. Worse still, the crouching werewolf on the other side of the cave had yet to move an inch. Instead, she stood there, eyeing Bran with cold, threatening eyes.

Bran had to make a decision soon. If he waited any longer, either the werewolves would argue their way into killing him or the crouching werewolf would kill him first. If the werewolves weren’t going to let him leave, then they were going to give him answers.

He let out a sub-vocal growl that caused all heads to turn towards him. They watched him warily, no doubt wondering what the strange wolf’s next move would be. He looked from one wolf to the next, trying to pick out the alpha of the pack. It wasn’t the two twins. They moved into a defensive position which implied that they were relatively dominant wolves. However, their implicit ranks in the pack were too close together for either wolf to be the alpha. The man standing behind them was more dominant than the pair but was quick to join their bickering the moment the situation became uncertain. He wouldn’t have lasted long as an alpha. That just left the werewolf blocking off the only exit.

Bran lifted his gaze until his eyes locked onto the yellow eyes of the female werewolf. She tilted her head in surprise but seemed more amused than offended by his stare. She narrowed her eyes, and Bran felt her dominance beat down on him. He had to admit, the female werewolf was quite dominant. Almost as dominant as his sons. With the absence of Bran’s wolf half, they were an almost even match. But even without the Beast’s unyielding spirit, Bran had been an alpha for so long that he could no longer tolerate being anything less.

The amusement began to slide from the female werewolf’s face as the stare down continued. He could see that she was beginning to get frustrated after Bran had still failed to look away and cede control to her. Her lips slowly pulled back, and she bared her large sharp teeth at him in an angry snarl. But Bran continued to hold her gaze.

The other werewolves had begun to take notice. They looked at each other and exchanged nervous words as they debated what to do. They moved to stop Bran, but the female werewolf growled at them and caused the wolves to stop midstep.

“Aela?” One of the werewolves said nervously.

Aela ignored the werewolf and kept her eyes locked on Bran’s. Aela took a step towards Bran. Then another. Then another. Her large figure weaved around the basin in the center of the cave as she approached Bran. She started lowering herself into a pouncing position once she was mere feet away from Bran. Her eyes gleamed hungrily. Bran stared back inflexibly. Then, at the last moment, she dropped her gaze.

The other wolves blinked in astonishment. They hadn’t expected a werewolf as dominant as their Aela to lose a staring contest to a rogue wolf. But now that she had, Bran knew that they would be much more malleable. If he had wanted to, Bran likely could have enticed them to turn on the female werewolf had she been their alpha. True alphas couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of their pack for fear of the lower-ranking members turning on them. But since Aela wasn’t their actual alpha, trying to incite a rebellion would not have been so successful.

Bran looked around, realizing what had set him off about the pack. They had captured him, brought him to their hideout, yet their alpha was absent? Strange that the wolves would confront him without their alpha present. Did their alpha decide to leave Bran for the lower-ranking wolves to handle? Or had they gone behind their alpha’s back to get Bran? An internal conflict perhaps?

Regardless of why the alpha was missing, the werewolves had left themselves at a disadvantage. With the alpha gone, Bran was now the most dominant werewolf in the room. He could use this to his advantage.

Bran let his gaze travel over the assembled wolves and watched in satisfaction as each of them dropped their eyes. He could walk out right now and none of them would stop him. But then he wouldn’t get answers to any of the questions he had.

Before Bran could react, however, a shadow shifted at the cave’s entrance and revealed an elderly man. The old man had a long beard, and his gray hair was tied back into a ponytail. A dark spiral tattoo adorned his cheek. The three male werewolves ducked their heads reverently as the man walked towards them. Aela flinched in surprise.

“Kodlak,” Aela gasped the words through her wolf jaws. “I thought you were resting. We were just --”

Kodlak ignored Aela and settled his gaze on Bran. “And who might this be?”

Market werewolf bowed his head. “I found this rogue wandering in our territory without your permission yesterday. I brought him here to be interrogated.”

“And why wasn’t I informed of this interrogation, Vilkas?” Kodlak’s gaze traveled over the wolves. “Aela? Farkas? Skjor?”

Farkas, Vilkas’s twin, clenched his jaw. “We thought that we could handle it on our own. We didn’t want to disturb you.”

That was a lie. Bran could tell and it looked like Kodlak could tell too. The old man narrowed his eyes at the other werewolf, and Bran saw Farkas’s shoulders tense in response.

Bran cursed mentally as his one advantage vaporized before him. Kodlak was their alpha. Bran could tell from the way the werewolves bowed their heads and avoided eye contact with Kodlak. Even Aela, the one who acted as if she was in charge when Bran first woke up, lost her confident stance when Kodlak walked in. It was clear that Kodlak was in control of this wolf pack. Now that the real alpha was here, the werewolves would no longer feel driven to obey Bran.

But there was still something wrong with this pack. A strong alpha would not have had problems keeping his pack under control even in his absence. A healthy pack would not have gone out of their way to disobey their alpha like this one did. Bran took in Kodlak’s graying beard and shaking hands. Werewolves weren’t supposed to age. Not werewolves from Earth anyway. Yet Kodlak was clearly showing signs of the frailty that came with old age. It seemed that the werewolves of Nirn differed from Bran in that respect. They didn’t stay young like Earth’s werewolves did.

Bran recalculated his odds at this discovery. In his experience, if an alpha showed signs of weakness, he would be at risk of his own wolves eliminating him. Kodlak was sick. His eyes were tired and yellowing. He was muscular for an old man, but thin and weak for a werewolf. If his own pack was going behind his back, they must have sensed Kodlak’s weakening state too.

Kodlak’s eyes seared into Bran. “Who are you?”

Bran stared at Kodlak. He averted his gaze from the alpha’s eyes without showing submission. He was simply one alpha acknowledging another.

Kodlak’s eyes narrowed further though he didn’t take offense to Bran’s silent disobedience. “Are you not able to speak? Are you even a werewolf?” Kodlak took a deep breath. “You smell like a werewolf, but you look like a normal wolf. What are you? Who sent you?”

Bran refused to give any kind of response, neither physical nor verbal. He didn’t like the way the other werewolves were watching him. Before they were wary of him. Then they were deferential. Now they watched him like a wolf watches a cornered deer. One wrong move and they would pounce. He may have gotten them to back down once, but now that they had their alpha backing them, he knew it wouldn’t work a second time.

“We considered that he may be an Aspect of Hircine,” Skjor explained.

Kodlak raised an eyebrow. “An Aspect of Hircine? The Daedric Prince hasn’t sent one to communicate with us in… a very long time. Why would he send a messenger now?”

The male werewolves looked away sheepishly. However, Aela’s eyes glimmered for a moment before she looked away.

Kodlak sighed in exasperation. “Looks like we will be having a talk about this later.” He frowned at Bran. “The issue of our unexpected guest is concerning. We cannot yet determine whether he is a threat or a new wolf who has accidentally wandered into our territory. And since he currently appears unable to shift back into human form or speak, we will have to try another method.”

Bran looked at Kodlak warily. Despite his weak appearance, Kodlak’s mind was sharper than those of the other wolves. Bran could tell that Kodlak had uncovered plenty about Bran simply from observing him. Kodlak must have been a competent alpha in his younger years.

“We will perform a test,” Kodlak decided. “If he passes the test, he may join us. If he fails, he must leave immediately.” Kodlak paused while the other werewolves absorbed his words before continuing. “The tradition of the Companions is that a recruit must prove their worth by demonstration. This wolf will travel to the giant camp west of Whiterun and retrieve sap from the Sleeping Tree. The camp is guarded by a giant, so this should prove to be a suitable challenge. Aela will accompany you on the journey to supervise.”

Aela huffed in protest. “We are going to allow a rogue to hunt in our territory without interrogating him first? How do we know he isn’t working for the Silver Hand?”

Kodlak looked at Aela darkly. The werewolf bowed her head slowly, though not without snarling silently.

“We,” Kodlak said quietly, “are the Companions. We are driven by honor, not senseless violence. Even a rogue is owed the opportunity to prove himself before we judge him. You know better than this, Aela.”

Aela turned away and sneered at the wall.

Kodlak shook his head with a sigh. “The two of you should depart immediately. You will be able to leave the city without getting spotted if you leave through the hidden passageway. Return by the end of the night, or don’t return at all.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I technically finished this chapter on Wednesday but I decided to wait to post it since I planned on modifying the next chapter a bit. Since I am still making changes to chapter 20, it will most likely take some more time before I'm ready to post it.

Aela led Bran out of Whiterun. To say that the silence was uncomfortable would have been an understatement. The female werewolf kept close to Bran’s side, and he could feel her glare pass over him more than once as he made his way down the rocks surrounding the city.

Aela wasn’t happy with Kodlak’s decision. That much was clear. He was sure that if the decision had been left up to her, she would have simply killed him on the spot and disposed of his body. Having to escort him on his ‘test’ was probably driving her mad. Bran didn’t mind the animosity, however, as long as she didn’t decide to take out her frustration on him.

It always astonished him how different Skyrim’s werewolves differed from Earth’s. Aela was at least twice as tall and twice as heavy as Bran. Her appearance looked like it was caught between a humanoid and a wolf’s shape. Her arms were too long for her body, and her head too big for her neck. Such a creature could never pass as a wolf the way Bran could. Yet despite her awkward body, Aela moved with an unusual grace. Aela’s larger form made it easier to lope her way over the large boulders and across the streams leading into the Whiterun Hold’s plains while Bran’s smaller, lithe form allowed him to move more quietly.

While they travelled towards the giant’s camp, Bran allowed his worries to float across his mind. He knew that this “test” was bogus. Kodlak must know that Bran was not sent by a Daedric Prince. It was clear from the old wolf’s calm demeanor and the way he had smiled at Bran as the two werewolves left Whiterun. He knew that Bran wasn’t Daedra and knew that Bran wasn’t any normal rogue werewolf. That meant that Kodlak likely knew something that the other werewolves didn’t know. The possibility both excited and worried Bran. It excited him because it meant that he may soon gather more information that would help him return to Earth. But it also worried him because it also meant that Kodlak was planning something. What the old lobo was planning was entirely a mystery.

Bran didn’t like it when other people knew more about his circumstances than he did. He hated it even more when they chose to withhold what they knew from him for their own benefit. Add on the fact that Kodlak’s pack looked ready for a change in leadership and Bran was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. This situation was slowly spinning out of his control. For once, he actually wished that Lyz were with him. At least he would have backup if things went sideways.

He shook his head. He just needed to focus on finding this strange tree sap and getting back to Lyz before any of the werewolves hurt her.

They travelled in silence, though it was becoming clear that the silence was beginning to irritate Aela. The werewolf kept shooting glares at Bran every few moments and sniffing in disgust. Bran simply ignored her and kept walking as if the other werewolf wasn’t even present. Eventually, Bran’s non-reaction must have gotten underneath her skin because she decided to exchange some nasty words with Bran.

“Did you really think that you could sneak into our city without us noticing?” Aela’s tone was biting. “Us Companions have occupied Whiterun for generations. We know every person living in this city, young or old, and have eyes on anyone coming or going. You would have never slipped past us.”

Bran pretended not to hear her, a passing rabbit catching his attention instead.

Aela slid to a stop before him, cutting off his path. She bared her teeth at him.

“Kodlak may have decided to give you a chance. But Kodlak is a fool. He has grown sentimental in his old age and forgotten what it means to be a true Companion. He sees Hircine’s gift as a burden to be gotten rid of. But _I_ know the truth. Our blood is what gives us strength. It is not inviting mangy strays to traipse around in our territory.”

Aela locked eyes with Bran, and Bran snarled in response. Aela fought to hold his gaze, but even the wolf in her knew that it was a lost cause. Without her wolf or her pack to back her up, Aela’s eyes dropped mere moments after meeting Bran’s.

Aela’s claws slashed at the ground, and she let out a growl of frustration. “This is stupid. We have better things to do with our time than this. I bet Kodlak expects us to sneak in and steal the tree sap without getting spotted by the giant. He would say that it would be the ‘safe’ approach. But that is not the way of a true warrior.”

Bran twitched an ear at her words. Any intelligent werewolf would want to avoid excessive risk. What Aela was recommending sounded utterly delusional.

Aela tilted her head thoughtfully. “How about this? Forget the tree sap. You kill a giant and you will gain my approval. Old Kodlak would be impressed too.”

Somehow, Bran doubted Aela’s assessment of the alpha. But Aela looked eager. She was already rocking in excitement at the prospect of a hunt.

“Don’t tell me that you are scared like the old man. It’s just a giant. I have taken one on in human skin with no issues. In wolf shape, it should only be a minor challenge.”

Bran considered his options carefully. He had two choices. Giant or tree sap. Aela or Kodlak. Aela was the stronger of the pair and the most likely candidate for the alpha position if Kodlak ever passed away. But Kodlak was the careful and knowledgeable one, as seen by the level of respect most of the werewolves showed him. Bran could honestly benefit from either of their support. He made up his mind and nodded to Aela.

Aela gave a toothy grin and wagged her tail. “Good,” she rumbled. “For a moment, I was worried that I was left to deal with a milk-drinker. There should be one or two giants guarding the Sleeping Tree. Since we are already headed that way, we will go after those giants.”

_So quick to undermine your alpha’s orders, aren’t you_? Bran added this little tidbit to the list of things that was wrong with this pack and continued on.

They arrived at the Sleeping Tree Camp shortly afterwards. The camp was a short distance from Whiterun and the two werewolves had no trouble jogging the entire journey in wolf form.

The camp was surrounded by a herd of -- Bran blinked twice -- mammoths. The sight of the large wooly creatures caught Bran off-guard. He had seen a variety of strange creatures during his time in Skyrim. He had been attacked by dragons, fought off trolls and had even been chased by giant crabs. He should’ve been used to it. But seeing the once-extinct mammals wandering around and eating grass seemed a bit extreme to the werewolf. It felt strange realizing that such a large prehistoric animal among the common creatures native to Whiterun’s plains. He wasn’t able to stare for long because Aela nudged his shoulder.

“Look,” the female werewolf warned and tilted her nose to the side.

A giant stood at the top of the slope overlooking the mammoth herd. Its face sat in a permanent frown as it kept watch over its livestock. A giant club rested on its shoulder.

“There’s our prey,” Aela said hungrily. “It’s looking this way, so we will have to sneak around to the other side.”

Bran nodded in agreement. They would need to be careful, if the bone-covered necklace around the giant’s neck was any indication.

They slunk around the small valley, carefully avoiding the mammoths and the giant’s line of sight. At one point, the wind changed directions and the mammoths shifted restlessly as they picked up the werewolves’ scents, but they did not catch sight of the pair and soon went back to eating.

As they drew closer to the giant, Bran’s ears pricked at the sound of the tall creature’s deep breathing. Its scent was similar to that of the nords. Except the nords smelled closer to other humans. The giant, on the other hand, carried an earthy scent. Both races, however, smelled faintly of ancient ice and snow.

Bran looked at Aela and gestured with his ears. The werewolf immediately responded by circling around to the giant’s other side to flank it.

Bran’s heart warmed at the ease of their silent communication. To this day, he struggled to communicate his thoughts and intentions with his human companion. He had forgotten how much easier it was to use body language to talk to other wolves. Even those that weren’t in his pack could understand simple gestures, as Aela had just demonstrated. It almost made his heart ache with nostalgia.

Bran had wanted to sneak up on the giant and try to take it down in one or two blows, but clearly Aela had grown tired of stealth. Once the female werewolf was in position, she launched herself forward and sank her teeth into the giant’s shoulder. The giant grunted in its deep, bassy voice and grabbed at Aela’s leg. It yanked Aela free from his body and threw her aside, leaving behind deep tear marks in its shoulder. Aela hit the ground hard but bounced back to her feet instantly and rushed the giant a second time.

Bran rolled his eyes. So much for stealth. He slithered in and nipped at the giant’s ankle as it raised its club to swing at Aela. The giant growled in a foreign tongue and launched a boulder at Bran which the wolf ducked under with ease. A rumbling noise distracted Bran and he ducked again as a mammoth swung its tusks at him. Bran let out a bark of warning as the mammoths took notice of Aela, but the werewolf simply let out a yip of excitement as she raced into the herd of mammoths and stirred up pandemonium.

That left Bran to deal with the giant alone. Bran jumped to the side as the giant swung its club where Bran had been standing. The blow shattered the rocks on the ground and sent splinters flying everywhere.

_Yikes_ , Bran thought. _A blow like that would have broken every bone in my body._

The giant said something else in its strange language, most likely cursing at Bran based on its tone, and yanked its club out of the ground. Bran circled around it and nipped at the same ankle he had injured before.

The fight dragged on. Bran continued to nip at the giant’s ankles then ducked out of the way of its swinging club as the giant’s attacks grew wilder and more furious. Bran had gotten himself into a rhythm when Aela let out a sharp cry. Bran looked back just in time to get smashed in the side by a pair of tusks as a mammoth rammed into him.

Aela had kept the herd of mammoths busy for a good amount of time. But the werewolf had either tired out or gotten distracted as a couple of the mammoths had split off from the main herd. One of the mammoths had managed to catch Bran off-guard.

Bran skittered across the ground and landed on the other side of the giant. He stood up and knew that something was wrong. His shoulder felt stiff and let out jolts of pain whenever Bran placed weight on it. Dislocated, Bran guessed from the feel of it. A minor injury for a werewolf with superior healing speed. A devastating injury for a normal wolf fighting an angry giant.

Bran forced himself to stand and move as the giant chased after him. He was careful to keep the giant between himself and the attacking mammoths. The mammoths wouldn’t attack their own shepherd, he hoped. Instead, they would go after the pesky wolf that had disturbed their night.

Bran was still fast on three legs, but he wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. He glanced at the ledge behind him and hatched a plan. He moved side-to-side, encouraging the giant to follow him while making it harder for the mammoths to charge him. The giant grunted angrily as it tried to keep up with his weaving. Its injured ankle moved slower than the other and hindered its movements. When Bran reached the tip of the ledge, he sucked in a breath and jumped over. He landed unsteadily on three legs and let out a yelp when the fall jerked his shoulder into a bad angle.

The giant rumbled triumphantly at the sound of Bran’s yelp, thinking it had finally crippled the wolf. It took a step over the ledge and promptly lost its footing as its torn ankle folded on the smooth rock. The giant roared as it fell. Its heavy weight acted against it and caused it to land much harder than Bran had. It tried to catch itself, but its arms weren’t strong enough to stop the giant’s descent as it cracked its head against the ground.

The mammoths marched up to the edge of the ledge and stopped. They glanced at the drop nervously and shuffled back towards the valley, wolf forgotten.

Bran let out a sigh of relief. He glanced at the giant. It had gone still after falling, but Bran didn’t want to take any chances. He limped up to the giant and sank his teeth into the giant’s throat. When it didn’t react, he pulled until the giant’s head came off. Then Bran slid down and rested with his side propped up against the giant’s body.

Bran glanced down at his dislocated shoulder. _Ouch_.

Aela slid down the side of the ledge and landed beside the dead giant. Her eyes were wild with excitement as the werewolf hopped around the giant. She poked and prodded the body as if she was hoping that the giant would come back to life and fight them. Bran snorted at the sight.

The sound caught Aela’s attention as she turned away from the giant and glanced at Bran curiously. She loped over to him with a toothy grin.

“Well, well,” the lycanthrope purred. “I’m impressed. I wasn’t expecting you to beat the giant so easily. Skjor broke both arms in the last fight.” She glanced at his shoulder. “Although, I suppose we will have to get that fixed if we are to head back.”

A crackling sound filled the air. Aela was surrounded by a dark smoke as her lupine body disintegrated to reveal her human shape. Auburn hair billowed around a tanned face that was streaked with a tattoo in the shape of claw marks. Her dark eyes looked over Bran’s shoulder as she crouched down beside him.

“A simple dislocation. Should be easy to fix.”

Bran shivered when her strong hands rested on both ends of his leg. With a sharp yank, she pulled Bran’s leg back into place. Bran suppressed a growl as the sharp pain in his shoulder settled into a deep ache.

Aela nodded at her work. “Good. That should do for now. You can use a healing potion when we get back to Whiterun. Let’s head back.”

Aela shifted back into her wolf form and picked up the giant’s head. She looked over her shoulder at Bran in confusion when he started walking away from her.

“Where are you going?”

Bran sniffed around until he found what he was looking for. The ledge had dropped them in the middle of the giant’s camp, judging from the smell of mammoth cheese and burnt skeever in the clearing. A large bonfire burned in the center of the camp. Off to the side of the camp sat a pool of water with a small glowing tree. The tree grew out of the pool of water and gave off a soft purple glow. As Bran approached it, it gave a faint hum that reminded him of the sound of growing nirnroot.

Gingerly, Bran stepped into the pool of water and stopped before the tree. On the side of the tree was a spigot buried into the wood. Someone had tapped this tree in the past. Likely before the giant moved in, judging from the age of the spigot. He wondered if it was the tree or people’s activity in the area that had attracted the giants.

Bran grabbed one of the glass bottles resting beneath the tree and placed it underneath the spigot. With frustrating care, Bran used his teeth to turn the knob on the spigot and release the flow of tree sap. Strangely, the purple tree’s sap was a deep blue and oozed out of the spigot like a thick syrup. Bran waited until the container was full, then closed the spigot and sealed the bottle haphazardly.

Aela sat in boredom at the edge of the giant’s camp. She shifted her eyes towards Bran when he returned with the bottle of Sleeping Tree sap.

“You actually went out and got it? You could have brought the giant’s head to him instead.”

Bran sneezed in response. _I would rather get both the giant and the tree sap._

Aela read his body language with a grin. “Strong and smart. The qualities one would expect from a good leader.” She stared at him strangely, her gaze deep and contemplative. “Perhaps I have misjudged you.”

Bran tilted his head at her questioningly, but the werewolf had already begun making her way out of the camp. He followed her as they made their way back towards Whiterun. They hadn’t been out for very long. The moon was still high, and the stars were shining above their heads. Still, his sore shoulder and the bottle clutched in his jaws made walking difficult. The smell of the sap was making his nose go numb and he had to breathe through his mouth to avoid sneezing.

“You should join us,” Aela said suddenly, earning her a confused look. “You are strong and brave. You would fit in well with the Companions. And when Kodlak finally passes onto Sovngarde, you may even take his place as our Harbinger.”

Somehow, Bran didn’t think she really meant “harbinger” when she spoke. He looked at her closely. Her lithe legs stretched outwards as she galloped across the plains. Her eyes sparked with youth and confidence. She noticed his stare and met him with a stare of her own.

“Harbinger is a highly respected role among the Companions. Only the strongest and the wisest can hold such a position.”

Bran blinked at her.

Aela watched him quietly. “And if you are available, you could make new ties to a new wolf.”

Bran stiffened. The image of another werewolf with blond hair and a cold sneer flashed across Bran’s mind and disappeared. He felt like a whip had cracked against his chest. He shook himself, pretending that he was shaking off the cold.

Aela looked away when he didn’t answer, though he couldn’t tell if his silence had upset her. They continued on wordlessly. Bran stewed on Aela’s words, but they were re-entering the city before he could digest what she had told him. They entered the city through the Companions’ secret entrance. Aela led him back into the cave and told him to wait before she disappeared out of the cave. When she returned, she entered the cave with Kodlak in tow.

The old man glanced at the giant’s head and Sleeping Tree sap solemnly. “I see that the two of you had fun along the way.”

Aela bowed her head. “Unfortunately, we encountered a giant along the way. We decided it would be best if we fought it before collecting the sap.”

Even Kodlak could tell that Aela’s remorse was not genuine, but the man chose to ignore the female werewolf’s behavior. Instead, he turned to Bran.

“You have passed our test and proven yourself worthy of the Companions’ respect. As a reward, we have prepared something for you.”

Kodlak nodded to Aela, and the woman stepped before the deep basin in the center of the cave. With her sharp teeth, Aela tore a gash into her arm and let her blood flow from the wound. The crimson liquid dripped into the basin and pooled at the base. As the basin filled, Bran watched as the wound on Aela’s arm slowly sealed itself before his eyes. Her healing was not quite as fast as that of an Earth werewolf, but it was still much faster than a human’s. When the flow of blood stopped, Aela stepped back and looked at Kodlak.

“A blood ritual is how we invite new members of the Inner Circle into our pack,” Kodlak explained. “Since you are already a werewolf, the ritual won’t result in any physical changes. However, it will allow you to use our pack magic.”

Bran hid his surprise as he stared at the basin full of blood. He had wanted to question Kodlak about his knowledge of werewolves before he left Whiterun, but it looked like he was about to get more than he had bargained for. In all honesty, he wasn’t interested in joining Kodlak’s pack. It would put him under the command of another werewolf and hinder his plans to return home. However, if he established a pack bond with Kodlak, he might be able to use the bond to communicate mentally with him the same way Bran would with his own wolves.

Secretly, Bran hoped that the pack magic might be enough to allow him to shift back into human form. Or at least reawaken his wolf. Any change from his current state would be an improvement.

Bran hesitantly took a sip of the crimson liquid. As soon as it touched his tongue, the cooling blood turned into a warm buzz. Then, as it sank down his throat, it began to burn. Fire spread all throughout his body, igniting him from head to tail tip. He panted as the heat screwed up his senses and caused black spots to appear in his vision. For a moment, he thought he saw the shadow of a large black wolf crouched in the corner. It grinned at him. Bran must have lost consciousness for at least a minute or two because Kodlak was bent over him when he awoke.

The elderly werewolf sniffed Bran carefully and leaned back when he realized that the wolf was awake.

“Odd,” the old man said. “Most wolves don’t react to the blood ritual that way.”

Bran frowned warily. What was that supposed to mean?

“You didn’t go berserk and rampage through the city. Nor did you lose consciousness for very long.”

Bran’s frown deepened at Kodlak’s pensive stare. The old werewolf was onto him.

When the burning subsided, Bran realized that he didn’t feel any different. He still couldn’t feel his wolf, nor could he change back into a human. Experimentally, he reached out for the Companions’ pack bonds.

In a small space inside his mind, Bran was able to see and hear the bonds that were attached to him. Before he left Earth, the pack bonds surrounded him in all directions. If he hadn’t become so good at restricting the bonds, the sheer enormity of bonds would have crashed over him like a waterfall.

Now, he was greeted to silence. He tried to ignore the yawning absence left behind by his former mate bond.

He tilted his head and listened carefully for the song of the Whiterun pack’s bonds. Then he tried to communicate with Kodlak mentally.

_I am the Marrok. Who are you?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this chapter took forever to rewrite. It started out as a 2000 word rough draft and kept getting longer and longer. Once I hit 8000 words, I decided that I needed to stop and just post it already. If you catch any mistakes that I missed, please let me know.

Kodlak stiffened.

The old werewolf’s eyes grew wide and his head swiveled left and right as he tried to pinpoint the source of the voice. Aela watched her alpha’s behavior in confusion.

_I am the voice that you hear,_ Bran said mentally, licking the blood still coating his lips. _I stand right before you_.

Kodlak whirled around to face Bran. For once, the alpha looked utterly unsettled. His teeth were bared, and his eyes glowed yellow with the wolf’s ascendent spirit.

“Who-- How are you doing that?” Kodlak nearly spat the words.

Bran couldn’t help but smirk knowingly. Alphas liked being in control. That desire for control extended to both people and situations. Entering a situation believing that you were the one in control only to discover that you had been under someone else’s control the entire time was an alpha’s worst nightmare.

Aela looked between Bran and Kodlak. “What happened? I don’t see what’s going on.”

Kodlak pointed an accusing finger at Bran. “He talked in my head. No one told me that he could do that!”

Aela’s eyes widened. “I-I didn’t know that he could. He didn’t do that before.”

Aela’s eyes narrowed in thought, and Bran could nearly see the cogs turning inside her brain as she pieced things together. She glanced at the basin of blood and back at Bran.

_That is of no matter,_ Bran said, ignoring Aela. _What is important is what I have to say_.

“What are you?” Kodlak demanded. “You are a werewolf, but you are not like us.” Kodlak glanced at Aela. “You said that the others thought he may be an Aspect of Hircine. Did Hircine send you to us?”

Bran shook his head. _No. I was not sent by Hircine. But I do not belong here. I was snatched away from my world and ended up in Nirn. I seek to return home_.

Kodlak shook his head. “Impossible.”

“What is it?” Aela said, still looking confused. “What is he saying?”

“He said that he is not from the Hunting Grounds,” Kodlak explained. “Nor is he from Nirn. He is from… someplace else.”

Aela’s eyebrows rose. “Oblivion then. Or Sovngarde. I’ve heard legends about the warriors who reside there. He could be one of them.”

Bran shook his head again. _I am not from either of those places. I am from a different world entirely. A place called Earth._

“Earth?” The unfamiliar word rolled off Kodlak’s tongue. “I have heard of no such place.”

_Great_ , Bran thought to himself. So much for finding out how to get back home. In that case, he should focus on gathering information on Nirn’s werewolves. If they couldn’t tell him how to return to Earth, they should at least be able to share some information about lycanthropy. Preferably information he couldn’t get from reading books. He wrapped an imaginary finger around the thread connecting him to Kodlak’s pack.

_Why are you werewolves living in Whiterun? I have not encountered other werewolf packs in my journeys through Skyrim._

“That’s because we drove them away,” Kodlak responded, clearly relieved by the change in topic. “Some joined the Companions for a short time. Most had already gone mad and had to be put down or chased out of the busier parts of Skyrim. Nowadays, what few stray werewolves there are roaming the rest of Skyrim are rounded up and killed by the Silver Hand.”

Both Bran and Kodlak shivered at the name of the werewolf-hunting bandits.

“Werewolves from another world,” Aela muttered, unimpressed by the conversation’s change in focus.

“The Silver Hand are dangerous,” Kodlak continued. “Not so much because of their silver weapons, but more because of their fanatical attitude. They hunt werewolves because they despise lycanthropes and seek glory through massacre. They are best avoided.”

Bran agreed. He still remembered his previous experience with being captured by the Silver Hand. If Lyz hadn’t found him, his pelt would be draped around a bandit’s neck right now. Still, despite the seriousness of Kodlak’s tone, Bran could have sworn he saw a glimmer of sadness in Kodlak’s eyes as he spoke of the Silver Hand. Or possibly sympathy.

Kodlak’s eyes narrowed. “This is not the conversation I would like to have here and now. It is already late, and I have matters that I need to take care of before dawn. We will have to handle of this discussion at a later moment. Aela, take this wolf with you and find Farkas. He can show the new wolf around Jorrvaskr while I am busy. He still owes me for that incident with Danica Pure-Spring.”

Aela raised an eyebrow. “Danica? You’re still angry about that?”

Judging by Kodlak’s foul expression, he was very much still angry about it. “Farkas can practice using his mouth instead of his fists while he shows the new whelp around our den. I will seek him out when I am ready.” With that, Kodlak left the cave.

_Wait. I never agreed to join officially._ Bran’s tail twitched in irritation as he realized that the old wolf fully intended to induct him into the pack. He wrapped another imaginary finger around the pack bond.

Aela stared at Bran expressionlessly. Bran looked back at her and noted with a hint of pride that she immediately looked away even though he hadn't been trying to intimidate her. She clenched her jaw and motioned for Bran to follow her.

“Come on, whatever-you-are. Farkas should be in his chambers. He normally likes to go to bed earlier than the rest of us.”

He followed Aela out of the cave. The cave opened into a courtyard lined with wooden swords and dummies. The dummies were heavily worn despite the dull weapons. As Bran sniffed the courtyard, he heard a quiet rumbling behind him and watched with interest as a large stone slid sideways to conceal the mouth of the cave.

_A secret entrance_. It would explain how the werewolves were able to enter and leave the city without being noticed. Nearby, a giant stone statue of an eagle perched atop a large hill. The base of the statue was lit up as if a fire burned beneath it.

Across from the courtyard sat a large building reconstructed from an overturned boat. The closer Aela and Bran got to the building, the stronger the scent of old blood and mead became. Aela pushed the doors to the building open and motioned for Bran to walk in first. He wasn’t sure if she did it out of respect or because she wanted to keep him within her line of sight rather than behind her.

As soon as Bran stepped in, he was met with a large feast hall. A large table took up most of the open space, as did the many chairs scattered throughout the hall. In the late hour, the gigantic table lacked any food but was still lined with silver goblets, plates and cutlery.

_Odd_ , Bran thought. Werewolves couldn’t touch silver. He approached one of the plates and gave it a sniff.

It was not real silver. Judging from the scent, it was quicksilver. Quicksilver strongly resembled silver in appearance but was actually an entirely different metal. Quicksilver was what people once called mercury on Earth, but this metal was clearly not mercury. It smelled different and did not turn into liquid when left out too long. Good thing. He’d hate to think that the Companions were giving themselves mercury poisoning.

“When you are done inspecting the plates, I have another person I intend to drop you off with,” Aela snapped.

_Someone’s in a bad mood_ , Bran muttered mentally. Aela was turning out to be rather unpredictable. One moment she wanted to kill him. The next moment she wanted him to join her pack. It made keeping up with her behavior rather difficult. Bran abandoned the plates and followed Aela before she could snap at him again.

Aela led him down a staircase leading underneath the feast hall. The staircase brought them to an underground hallway where an elderly woman swept the floors silently. The woman looked up and crossed her arms when she saw Bran.

“Oh, no you don’t!”

Bran rolled his eyes. _Here we go again_.

“I just cleaned these floors. You have no business sneaking an animal into the sleeping quarters in the middle of the night. I already had to tell Ria off after she tried to sneak a pet mudcrab into her quarters.” The woman wagged her finger at Aela as if she was scolding a child.

“Hello, Tilma. I actually have permission from the Harbinger to bring this,” Aela paused, “warhound into Jorrvaskr. We’ve been meaning to see what a warhound can do for the Companions.”

Tilma gave Aela a suspicious look but backed off. “Very well. Tell the Harbinger that I expect him to take responsibility for any messes that get left behind by his warhound.” Tilma shuffled away.

Aela watched the old woman leave. To Bran’s surprise, her eyes were filled with affection rather than exasperation. Though, the expression disappeared as soon as she turned back to Bran.

“Farkas’s room is down here. He shares a space with his brother Vilkas. If you have trouble telling them apart, just remember that Vilkas is the one with the scars on his face, and Farkas is the one who nearly looks too big for his armor.”

Bran nodded. He had already started memorizing the scents of the different werewolves while he was still in the cave, but the twins’ scents were harder to distinguish. He found that the biggest difference in their scents came from what armor they wore rather than their own bodies.

Aela stopped and knocked on one of the doors along the hallway. There was a deep rumble inside and the door popped open.

Vilkas appeared in the doorway. The warrior’s scarred face scowled at Aela then looked down at Bran warily.

Vilkas, it seemed, was the more careful of the two brothers. He was probably one of the few werewolves who truly knew that Bran was more dangerous than he appeared. Bran would have respected him more for it if he wasn’t the same wolf who had drugged and kidnapped him.

“You brought the wolf here. Why?” His tone was accusatory, and Aela’s face quickly morphed into a frown.

“I’m looking for Farkas,” Aela said sharply. “Is he here?”

Something shifted behind Vilkas. “What’s going on? Why is Aela here?”

Farkas appeared beside Vilkas. The twins were the same height, but Farkas seemed to take up more space somehow. Farkas placed a hand on Vilkas’s shoulder and the smaller man relaxed fractionally.

Aela’s frown morphed into a bright smile. “I was looking for you. Kodlak has work for you.”

Vilkas gave Aela a foul look and marched out of the room. Bran watched as the man stomped up the stairs and disappeared. Bran looked back at Farkas and tilted his head.

Farkas waved a hand. “Don’t mind my brother. He’s normally a grouchy person. Being up this late is making him crankier.”

Not quite a lie, Bran guessed. He hadn’t expected the young werewolf to be good with half-truths.

“Let’s go talk inside,” Aela said, gesturing to Farkas’s quarters. “It’ll be quieter in there.”

The door closed behind the three werewolves as they settled into the tiny room. The room was significantly smaller than Bran was expecting. There was room for two beds and a small dresser, but not much else. With three werewolves, the space felt claustrophobic.

“So,” Farkas said. “Visiting my room in the middle of the night? That’s a change. Normally, I catch you slipping into Skjor’s room around this time.”

“Don’t even start,” Aela bit back. “Skjor and I are just friends. And even if we were anything else, it would be none of your business.”

“Mmhmm. ‘Just friends.’ I bet you bring your other friends out on midnight runs with you too.”

The fire in Aela’s glare could have replaced the sun. “Maybe I will take you out on a hunt too. You can serve as the rabbit.”

Bran watched as the two werewolves playfully bantered with each other. Despite the weakness the pack had initially displayed when they had first captured Bran, it was clear that the ties between each of the pack members were still quite strong. He was reminded of his own pack in Aspen Creek. He remembered the times he would take his pack out on trips into the wilderness. They would be far enough away from civilization to be safe to run free and let their wolf halves take over.

A pang of loneliness hit Bran. It had been a very, very long time since he was alone in his head. He was used to always being surrounded by his pack bonds, and if not the pack, then the spirit of the wolf that he shared his body with. But now, he had no one.

Unconsciously, he reached out along the newly formed bond with Kodlak’s pack and tried to taste some of the joy the other wolves were experiencing. The reaction was immediate. Farkas and Aela immediately stopped speaking and turned their gazes to Bran. Farkas bore his teeth while Aela simply narrowed her eyes.

Bran hastily retracted his touch. _My apologies. It has been a long time since I was bound to a pack. I have forgotten what it is like_.

Farkas stared down at him dubiously. “Right. You can talk in people’s heads too. That’s really nice to know. Someone will have to teach you self-control. Someone who is not me.”

Bran scolded himself mentally. Although Kodlak had brought him into the pack, it was pretty clear that the other wolves hadn’t accepted him as one of their own. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have viewed his fiddling with the pack bonds as so invasive. Another imaginary finger wrapped around the bond.

He licked his lips, trying to hide the disappointment on his face. _Kodlak said that he wanted me to take a look around Jorrvaskr. He would find us when he is ready to speak with me_.

“Kodlak specifically asked you to take care of that,” Aela explained. “He still remembers the Danica incident.”

Farkas’s eyes widened. “Danica? As in Danica Pure-Spring? That was three months ago! How can he still be mad about that? Besides, how was I supposed to know that she was the new priestess for the temple? She has a mean left hook, and the note had made her sound pretty cutthroat.”

“Yeah. Well, beating up a Kynareth priestess in public made the Companions look bad, so Kodlak expects you to start paying your dues.” She smirked. “Starting with giving the new whelp a tour.”

Farkas scowled. “Babysitting duties. Great.”

Aela gave Farkas a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Since most everyone is still asleep, it should go by faster than usual. No stumbling into Njada and Athis beating each other in the mead hall. No tripping over Torvar’s drunk form in the hallway. Just have to walk him around, and you will be done.”

“True. The other Companions do get in the way a lot. I wouldn’t rule out Torvar being passed out somewhere though. The only time he isn’t drinking is when he is sleeping. And usually, he is sleeping because he drank too much and passed out.”

Farkas and Aela both rolled their eyes.

“It’s a wonder that man’s body hasn’t pickled itself yet,” Aela agreed. “Still, I didn’t see him in the mead hall, so he should be out of the way for now.”

“Sucks that I still got stuck showing the whelps around this time. You know what would really help out? If you joined me for the tour and did some of the talking.”

Aela stood up and walked out of the room.

“Or,” Farkas said sourly. “You could just walk away and leave me here with him.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.\

Bran tried to cheer Farkas up with a smile. It didn’t work. _She must be tired. Probably wanted to go to bed so that she is well-rested for the morning_.

“If you define well-rested as curling up in bed and sucking faces with Skjor, then yes. I do believe she was hoping to get very well-rested.”

Bran raised an eyebrow. _Should we pay them a visit, or view the rest of Jorrvaskr_?

Farkas gave Bran a feral grin. “Interrupting bedtime between Aela and Skjor? Tempting, but I would prefer maintaining some amount of my innocence. Besides, we have a lot to see, and I would really like to go back to bed before the sun rises. So, let’s hurry.”

Farkas first led Bran along the hallway outside of his quarters. “This is where most of the Companions sleep,” Farkas explained. “Although, some of us have our own houses in Whiterun and choose to live there.”

Bran nodded his head as he let his eyes and nose go to work. The underground bedrooms were constructed out of stone walls and wooden beams. He could smell the faint scent of sweat and mead, but the hallway itself was incredibly tidy. Even the red rugs spread across the ground were free from dust. Tilma, the elderly woman from earlier, must work hard to keep the hallways clean despite the presence of the warriors.

Farkas pointed towards the end of the hallway. “Kodlak’s room is down that way. The Harbinger usually takes that room out of tradition. Although it technically doesn’t make much of a difference if the Harbinger sleeps elsewhere. Let’s go take a look at the mead hall before anyone wakes up.”

They climbed to the first level where the mead hall was located. As they climbed the stairs, Farkas tilted his chin towards a weapon rack mounted to the wall. A few metal shards of an old weapon were attached to the display, but several of the pieces were missing.

“That is where the Companions once displayed Wuuthrad. Ysgramor carried Wuuthrad as he led the Five Hundred Companions into battle against the elves. It is a symbol of our strength and purpose as the Companions.”

Bran tilted his head at the level of respect and endearment in Farkas’s voice. As far as Bran could tell, the metal shards were just that. Metal shards. He couldn't sense any magic coming from them. _So, where is the rest of it_?

Farkas’s expression turned dark. “The rest of the battleaxe was stolen by the Silver Hand. They must consider it a badge of honor to have taken the most sacred artifact of our history. Damn them.”

Huh. It was strangely comforting to know that Bran wasn’t the only one the Silver Hand was targeting. But if they were attacking the Companions….

_Do the Silver Hand know that there are werewolves among the Companions_?

Farkas nodded. “Yes. I think that’s why we keep running into them. I don’t know how they found out, but they seem pretty driven to kill all of us. I think Kodlak knows more about it than he appears, but he hasn’t told me anything.”

_How long has the conflict with the Silver Hand been occurring?_

Farkas shrugged. “They were a problem before Vilkas and I joined. They’re still a problem now.”

So, the Companions and the Silver Hand had a blood feud with each other. That was nice to know. The fact that the Silver Hand was brazen enough to enter Jorrvaskr and steal part of a prized treasure was a bit worrying. How Kodlak and his werewolves had managed to hide the full extent of the feud from Whiterun and the rest of the Companions was a mystery to Bran.

_Are all of the Companions werewolves?_

Farkas shook his head. “No. Just the Circle is made up of werewolves. You’ve already met all of us. The rest of the Companions are uninitiated.”

That meant that they only had five werewolves in their pack. That was strikingly small. Granted, Skyrim wasn’t exactly overflowing with sentient werewolves, but five wolves were still rather pitiful.

_If Kodlak is your pack’s alpha, who leads the Companions?_

“The Companions don’t have a leader. We are leaderless by tradition.”

Bran thought back to how the rest of the Companions had immediately deferred to Kodlak for guidance. _Sure_ , Bran thought to himself. _No leader here_.

“This is the mead hall,” Farkas said, stepping towards the gigantic table. “This is where the Companions share our meals and our drink. We set up meals once in the morning and once in the evening. If you arrive late, there won’t be any food left.”

Bran nodded. That wouldn’t be a problem for him.

“When we are not training or having drinking contests, we are out doing jobs all throughout Skyrim. Sometimes we are rescuing people kidnapped by bandits. Sometimes we are teaching bad people a lesson with our fists.”

_Like you did with Danica?_

Farkas looked away with a flustered look. “That was different! I wasn’t given all of the information for that.”

_The Companions are starting to sound like mercenaries_.

“The Companions are not mercenaries,” Farkas said without conviction. “We are warriors that uphold the values of our founder Ysgramor.”

Bran tilted his head thoughtfully. _Is that a hint of doubt I hear?_ To Farkas he asked how that factored into the politics of Whiterun.

Farkas scratched his head. “Honestly, I have no idea. That’s a question for Kodlak. He knows more about politics than I do. As far as I can tell, as long as jarl Balgruuf doesn’t bother us, we don’t bother him.”

_That implies that the jarl doesn’t know about the Circle and its secret_.

“Was that a threat?” Farkas whirled around on Bran and glared at him. Then he dropped his eyes and clenched his fists as he avoided Bran’s gaze.

Having a dominant wolf that wasn’t one’s alpha must be bothering Farkas. Bran decided to look away from Farkas as if he hadn’t noticed the werewolf’s attempted staring contest.

_No. I was just wondering. I would imagine most jarls wouldn’t welcome werewolves within their cities_.

Farkas grunted in agreement, his body relaxing. “And you wouldn’t be wrong. Although, Balgruuf tends to be a lot more lenient than the rest of the jarls. Even if he wasn’t, the Companions have been here for a very long time. Furthermore, within this city, people practically worship Ysgramor. They would support the Companions even if the jarl took issue with us.”

Bran thought that Farkas’s words made sense. But one part didn’t make sense. As they had walked through the lower level, Bran had picked up the scent of at least one elf staying in the bedrooms.

Ysgramor hated elves, if Bran remembered clearly. Some of Lyz’s history books had discussed Ysgramor’s ‘triumphs.’ It seemed that Ysgramor was quite fond of elven genocide. Yet the Companions took no issues with recruiting elves or living amongst them. What would Ysgramor think if he saw what the Companions had turned into? Bran imagined that the once military leader wouldn’t be pleased.

Bran paused. There was something he was forgetting. Something very important. Ice froze inside of his veins.

Oh, no. He had forgotten about Lyz.

He didn’t know what time it was, but he could have sworn that the sun hadn’t risen yet. If he could get back to the inn before sunrise, she probably wouldn’t even notice that he had ever left. He recalled Lyz’s earlier threats to turn him into a fancy article of clothing and shivered nervously.

Farkas shifted on his feet as if the discussion of Ysgramor and the jarl had made him uncomfortable. “Anyway, behind Jorrvaskr is our training grounds. You would have walked through it on your way here. That’s normally where we test new recruits. But since you are currently indisposed…”

Farkas trailed off. The werewolf wasn’t staring at Bran but was clearly waiting on him. Bran simply stared at him, fully aware of what Farkas was trying to do. Farkas eventually furrowed his eyebrows and let out an impatient sigh.

“Why are you still in wolf form? You can clearly speak — mentally at least. Why don’t you just change forms already?”

Bran gave him a bland look. _Maybe I like being a wolf_.

Farkas scowled at him. “Maybe I like speaking to someone who isn’t walking on four legs.”

“Farkas, who are you talking to?”

Both of their heads turned towards the source of the new voice. A woman dressed in fur armor stood at the top of the stairs. Her brown hair was tied back into a bun, revealing the tattooed lines stretching from her mouth and eyes. Her eyes fell on Bran and the look on her face instantly melted.

“Aww,” she cooed loudly. “Is that a new pet?”

Bran tensed as the woman rushed towards him and gripped his face.

“Uh, Ria. You really shouldn’t be doing that.”

“You’re so cute! Look at that little white bit on his tail. Isn’t it adorable?”

Bran looked at Farkas helplessly as Ria snuggled against him. Farkas shrugged and took a step back, earning himself a glare from the wolf.

“Yeah,” Farkas replied awkwardly. “Vilkas found him wandering around the market yesterday and decided to take him in temporarily. We’re waiting to see if we can find his owner.”

“Well, if you don’t find his owner, could you let me keep him? Mr. Pinchy died a while ago, and it would be nice to have a new buddy to keep with me.”

_Say no. Say no. Say no._

“Of course,” Farkas said. “You can keep him.”

Bran groaned mentally as Ria squealed in excitement. Ria stroked his head again and paused.

“Strange. I’ve come across a lot of wolves in Skyrim, but none of them were anything like this one. They’re usually a lot wilder than this.”

“Maybe he is a hybrid,” Farkas blurted.

Ria shook her head. “I don’t know. Something about this one seems off.”

_Uh oh_.

Just as Ria was about to continue, the sound of footsteps pounded up the stairs. Skjor’s scarred face appeared above the banister. His eyes landed on Ria and Bran and turned the slightest shade of yellow.

“There you are,” Skjor said gruffly. “Kodlak is looking for you, _Farkas_. Feel free to take the _dog_ with you.”

“Looks like we have to leave. See you later, Ria.” If there was a hint of relief in Farkas’s voice, Ria didn’t appear to notice it. The woman removed her hands from Bran’s face and stood up slowly. She waved to Bran sadly as the three werewolves walked away.

They returned to the lower level and headed towards Kodlak’s quarters. They walked down the hallway in silence. Bran was a little disappointed. Farkas’s wariness had begun to evolve into something approaching friendliness. Unfortunately, Skjor’s presence had caused the tightness in the man’s shoulders to return. Bran considered using his bond to communicate with the two werewolves, but he decided against it. He didn’t know enough about Skjor to know whether he would react well to Bran speaking inside his head.

When they reached the end of the hallway, Skjor gave Farkas a look that caused the other werewolf to stop in place. Skjor’s eyes tilted down to Bran, and he jerked his chin towards the door in front of them.

“This is Kodlak’s room. You will enter alone and speak to Kodlak in private.” The man paused and let his wolf show through his eyes. “We will be waiting nearby.”

Bran suppressed the urge to bare his teeth and nodded politely instead. Realistically, if Bran wanted to kill Skjor, the warrior would be in serious trouble. But Bran wanted to keep things clean and walk away without spilling any blood. Another finger wrapped around the bond.

Bran pushed through the doors, using a paw to shut the door behind him. The inside of the room was dark, but his nose picked up a strange odor in the air. It was a mixture of herbs and Sleeping Tree Sap. Bran’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and he took in the furniture in the room. Unlike the twin’s shared room, Kodlak’s quarters were larger and more heavily decorated. A bookcase and several chairs filled up most of the space. Red banners bearing what Bran assumed to be the Companions’ insignia hung from the stone walls.

In the corner of the room sat Kodlak. He sat with his back straight against the chair he was resting in. However, Bran could tell from the strain in the small movements the old wolf made that he was in pain.

The old werewolf gestured towards the chair across from him. “Please, sit. We have much to talk about.”

Bran stared at the chair, then settled down on the floor next to it. Kodlak chuckled in amusement.

“Have it your way then. The seat will still be there if you change your mind.” Kodlak stretched slowly. “So, Farkas gave you a brief yet hopefully enjoyable tour. Did you like Jorrvaskr?”

Bran nodded.

“Good. It’s existed here for generations and hopefully it will exist for many more. Now, onto what we are really here for. Who are you really?”

_Straight to the point then_ , Bran thought to himself. To Kodlak he said, _I am Bran Cornick, leader of all North American packs_. Most, he corrected as an afterthought. _I was brought here against my will by a group of witches_.

Kodlak leaned forward and gazed at Bran with interest. “North America? There is no North America in Tamriel or any continent on Nirn that I know of.”

_That is because it does not exist on Nirn. It exists on Earth. I believe I mentioned this before_.

“My apologies. It’s just that what you have told me is so unbelievable that I needed to be sure. What proof do you have of this?”

Kodlak’s words were spoken without a hint of malice or doubt. Kodlak was quicker to accept Bran’s word than he had expected.

_There is the fact that I am able to speak mind-to-mind with you_.

“True. But there are many creatures in Tamriel who are capable of doing the same thing.”

Bran swished his tail in thought. How would he go about proving himself to Kodlak? His options were limited by his current form.

_Being an Alpha means understanding every wolf in your pack, correct? If I am telling the truth that I am the Alpha of multiple packs, I should be able to understand your pack’s wolves, yes?_

Kodlak nodded slowly. “Yes. That is true.”

_Farkas and Vilkas are brothers of the same age yet differ in personality. Vilkas is the more careful one who Farkas likes to defer to for most of the decision-making, but Farkas is more aware of things than people realize. Aela disagrees with how you run your pack but thinks she can hide it from everyone else. Skjor is your chosen second and is in love with Aela, but it is clear who is really in control of both that relationship and the other werewolves._

Bran eyed Kodlak carefully, wondering how bold he wanted to be today. _You are sick and dying. You are trying to hide it from your pack, but their wolf halves can tell that your power is waning and that your weakness is threatening the stability of the pack._

Kodlak stared. He said nothing in response to Bran’s revelation. He just stared.

_Oops_ , Bran thought to himself. _I think I broke him_.

“I…”

_Yep._

“You have only been here for a couple hours, yet you have learned this much? Amazing.”

_I have been an Alpha for a very long time. Once upon a time. Now, I am a lone wolf separated from his pack. I’ve spent too long trying to get back to my home and my pack, but I have failed thus far._

“Most werewolves go mad after being in the beast form for too long. Being away from one’s pack makes the process even worse. How have you managed to retain your sanity?”

_I’ve found ways around that_ , Bran answered evasively. _But it comes with a cost. I am not able to return to human form anymore_.

“Secunda’s power is still ascendent right now. If you wait until it is a new moon, you should have an easier time returning to human form.”

_I’ve already tried that. That is why I will need your pack’s aid._

Kodlak scratched his chin. “I see. And if we aid you in this endeavor, what will be in it for us?”

Bran grunted in annoyance. _I will answer more of your questions_.

“You have entered our territory without permission, and you are within our den in the company of this pack’s Alpha. Are you sure refusing to answer would be a wise decision?”

Bran was under no illusion that Kodlak would stick to his implicit threat. At best, he would try to use the pack bond to order Bran to submit. But Kodlak seemed the more peaceful type, and Bran had no doubt that the old wolf would prefer to settle his disputes as non-violently as possible.

_I won’t lie or refuse to answer anything that you ask. But I won’t be as forthcoming about the parts you don’t ask about_.

“So, it’s either the partial truth or the full truth?”

_Yes._

Kodlak sighed. “So be it. I will need to open up your pack bond further to make this work.”

Bran nodded slowly, imaginary fingers still touching the newly formed bond.

There was a pause as Kodlak appeared to wait. Then the door behind them opened. Aela stepped into the room and looked at Kodlak expectantly.

“There is something I would like you to do,” Kodlak explained. “Our new pack member is having some difficulty returning to his human form. You will be aiding him.”

Aela raised an eyebrow, no doubt questioning why Kodlak had woken her to handle this. Bran simply watched with a complete lack of surprise.

“I will guide you through the entire process. Just follow what I say, and the rest will take care of itself.”

Aela nodded. “I am ready.”

“First, we will open the pack bonds.”

Bran felt a stir within the pack bonds as they abruptly opened wide. Bran shivered, though he wasn’t sure if it was due to anticipation or the flow of energy rushing through the bond. He noticed, however, that Kodlak kept his bond tightly shut.

Kodlak’s eyes shined a dark yellow. “Now, I need you to direct the flow of pack magic to Bran. As much as you physically can.”

Aela’s yellow eyes met Bran’s amber ones. “ _Now._ ”

Her voice poured over Bran’s body like liquid fire. Raw power exploded through the pack bond and filled Bran to the brim. The tiny pack was feeding him more power than they should have been able to, and Bran wondered if they were pulling extra power from the moon or if he had simply underestimated how strong their pack was.

Bran’s legs wobbled under the force of the magic and he focused on redirecting the power towards the Change. Pack magic boiled in every inch of his body. Yet try as he might, the Change refused to come.

Bran dug his claws into the ground and willed for them to transform into human nails. Never before had he struggled this much with the Change. Not even when his mother had leashed him with her witchcraft. Eventually, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted and mentally overspent. The pack magic eased to a trickle as the pack bonds slowly closed.

Kodlak came to his feet, confusion written on his face. “That should have been enough power. Why didn’t you change?”

Bran growled in frustration. _I tried. It did not work._

Aela sank to her knees. Sweat collected along her brow and she wiped it away with her arm. “That… that was more than enough power. I was barely able to stop myself from transforming too. What went wrong?”

Bran shook his head, but he knew with certainty what had gone wrong. He was only half a werewolf. He was without his wolf spirit. And without his wolf spirit, the Change became impossible. Currently, he was simply a human soul trapped within a wolf’s body. He clenched his teeth as he was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. If pack magic wasn’t enough to bring him back to human form, what was? Would he be stuck in this form until he found a way to return to Earth? He wasn’t even sure if he would ever be able to go back.

_It did not work, and it will not work. It is no longer worth worrying about_. If Bran was honest, he had pitted too much hope into the Companions being able to fix his problem. He had let himself believe that with a pack bond, he would be able to regain some sense of normalcy and repair the mess he had been unwittingly thrown into. Instead, it had accomplished nothing. An imaginary thumb wrapped around the pack bond.

Kodlak stared down at Bran with a look of sadness. “Unfortunately, that was the best we had to offer. All we can do now is figure out another way to fix this. But to do that, I will need to know more about you and where you came from. How do people become werewolves on Earth? Are they all like you?”

Bran’s tail twitched in irritation, and he suppressed a sigh. He had only intended to share more information about himself if he had managed to return to human form. But he _did_ enter their territory without permission. And he _did_ start talking inside their alpha’s head without any explanation for how he was able to do it. It would be rude of him to not answer at least a few questions. Bran tapped further into the pack bond so both Kodlak and Aela could hear him.

_In my world, humans are changed by other werewolves. They must be mauled within an inch of their lives and allowed to recover. If they survive, they will transform into werewolves_.

Aela and Kodlak exchanged glances.

“That is very different from how people become werewolves here,” Aela said. “Out here, people become werewolves by either being blessed by Hircine, or by consuming the blood of another werewolf.” She paused. “Although, I suppose being mauled by a werewolf could work too under the right circumstances.”

“You said humans,” Kodlak butt in. “Only humans can become werewolves where you are from?”

Bran nodded. A half-truth. Only humans could become werewolves because there were no elves, nor whatever other humanoid races found in Skyrim, to be found on Earth. All other sentient creatures on the planet were magical and thus mostly immune to becoming a werewolf.

Bran moved onto his next question before Kodlak could sniff out his half-truth. _Who is Hircine? Why is he such a big deal to your pack?_

Aela’s eyes widened. “You don’t know about Hircine?” She hummed in her throat. “I suppose that does make sense. Hircine does not appear to be connected to your type of werewolf.”

Kodlak nodded. “It would explain why he looks and behaves so differently from us. Hircine is the Daedric Prince of the Hunt. He enjoys hunting mortals and turning the ones he finds worthy into lycanthropes, wolf or otherwise. The Companions have had werewolves for a long time, yet we know very little about Hircine.”

“His lack of connection to Hircine might also explain why our pack was unable to force his transformation,” Aela reasoned. “Our power to transform comes from our connection to Secunda and the Hunting Grounds. Without both, I imagine that we would lose our ability to transform too.”

Bran hadn’t thought of that. He had assumed that werewolf’s transformations on Nirn worked much the same way as it did on Earth. It would explain why he couldn’t draw power from either of the moons.

_Where can I go to find more information about Hircine?_

“There isn’t that much information about Hircine that still exists in the world. The College of Winterhold might be able to offer more knowledge about the Daedric Princes. But Hircine is quite secretive. What information the college has might not be enough to help you.”

“What about the witches?” Aela said offhandedly.

Bran immediately took notice of Kodlak’s pale expression. Witches. Bran despised the word, and it appeared that Kodlak felt the same way.

“No,” Kodlak said harshly. “We do not make deals with witches.”

“Our ancestors did.”

“Our ancestors were fools to trust them. We will not send him to the Glenmoril witches.”

Bran perked up instantly. Bran was not going to pass up on this information now that they had caught his attention.

_Who are the Glenmoril witches?_

“The Glenmoril witches are worshippers of Hircine. The Companions of old times made a deal with the witches in exchange for power. It is how we were cursed in the first place.”

Aela appeared to feel differently but she kept silent.

“I would avoid them to the best of my abilities. Even if you think they may have your answers.” Kodlak suddenly gave a crooked grin, and his eyes flashed yellow. “Although, if you ever do decide to face the Glenmoril witches, you should call on the Companions to aid you. I would like to repay them for their kindness.”

Bran looked at Kodlak’s vicious look and wondered if Kodlak had a personal stake in his conflict with the Glenmoril witches. If he did, what was it?

He decided that Kodlak’s personal life wasn’t immediately important to him. Right now, he needed to get back to Lyz before she woke up and noticed his absence. She might go out looking for him and stumble across the Companions. Werewolves, even werewolves in Nirn from the looks of it, fiercely defended their secrecy. They wouldn’t consider her life valuable enough to be worth sparing. He needed to get to her before she got to him.

A darker part of his mind thought that Lyz would leave Whiterun without him, but Bran quickly banished the thought. Lyz would never leave him behind. She was too stubborn to do so. Even if she tried to, he would track her down and give her a piece of his mind. The conviction in that last thought caught him off guard.

Bran met Kodlak’s smile with a grin of his own. 

_Now that I have asked all the questions that I wanted, it’s time to take care of this pack bond._

Kodlak froze. “What? What do you mean?”

_I had no intention to officially join your pack. I will be leaving now._

“What? But you can’t!”

Bran ignored Kodlak and let his awareness slip into the space inside his mind. His surroundings were replaced by the stage he normally saw when he sought out his pack bonds. He stood as a human man, a form he had not taken in months but still felt familiar in this pocket space in his mind. He listened carefully as he stared into the darkness surrounding the stage. Faintly, he heard a distant song. It reminded him of the wind that swept through the Whiterun Hold, and of the wild joy of multiple werewolf spirits. Bran held out his hand as the music weaved its way towards him, willed by Bran’s intent. When the song became so loud that it drowned out the sound of Bran’s thoughts, he blinked his eyes and looked down at his hand.

In his palm sat a golden rope that hummed with the same song Bran had been hearing. He rolled the rope in his hand, inspecting the details. It was as strong as any pack bond he had ever encountered, made up of the trust and companionship of many werewolves. Without his wolf spirit to guide him, Bran had to rely on patience and memory to locate the bond. Thankfully, the tour Farkas had given him had provided him with plenty of time to do so.

_Ah, there we go_ , Bran thought as he tightened his imaginary hand around the bond tying him to Kodlak’s pack. In his mind, he wound the bond around his hand and yanked until he felt the bond snap under his forceful grip. The rope tore into pieces with a loud crack, disintegrating as it slid from Bran’s hand and dropped to the ground. With another blink, Bran was brought back to the inside of Kodlak’s room.

Kodlak was bent over, sputtering for air. Aela looked like she had been punched in the chest.

_Oops_ , Bran thought. He should’ve anticipated the whiplash the Companions would have experienced from him breaking the bond so crudely. Oh, well. At least it will stall them while Bran beat a hasty retreat.

“H-how?” Kodlak gasped. “How did you break the pack bonds? No lone wolf should have been able to do that on his own.”

If only they had known just how old and powerful Bran was, Bran would have gotten a very different response. For a moment, Bran wondered if he should have kept the pack bond. Having someone he could communicate with using words would have significantly improved his situation. However, pack bonds weren’t just a method of communication. They were a responsibility. Eventually, the rest of the wolves in Kodlak’s pack would have realized how dominant he was and would start seeing him as their Alpha instead of Kodlak. Kodlak would have had no choice but to challenge Bran if he didn’t want his pack to turn on him, and Kodlak would inevitably lose that fight. Bran wasn’t interested in killing an elderly man, nor was he interested in being responsible for a new pack, so breaking the pack bond was his only option. He suspected that he would most likely run into them again in the future anyway. He would deal with the Companions then.

Bran made his way towards the door, completely ignoring Aela’s contemplative stare as he walked away. Before he left, however, he decided to answer Kodlak’s last question. Bran looked up and met the elderly man’s eyes. Instinct caused Kodlak’s eyes to lock with Bran’s and respond to the challenge. It was this same instinct that drove Kodlak’s eyes back down mere moments later. Bran ignored Kodlak’s surprised horror and padded out of the room and past the bewildered werewolves waiting outside.

“How?” Kodlak whispered.

* * *

Bran made it all the way to the mead hall before the telltale sound of footsteps rushed up the stairs behind him. Farkas and Skjor stood at the top of the staircase. Farkas was breathing heavily and Skjor was clutching his head as if it hurt.

“Wait,” Skjor shouted. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Bran tilted his nose towards the door. _Out_ , he said mentally even though he knew they could no longer hear him.

Skjor furrowed his eyebrows and made a step towards him before clutching his head and groaning. “Farkas. Don’t let him leave.”

Bran scuttled towards the door and started pushing it open with his paws when Farkas placed a hand on the door to stop him.

“No,” the warrior boomed. “You cannot go. Not in the state you are in. We will not compromise the safety of the city by letting you roam free.”

Bran growled deeply. He didn’t need Farkas’s position to go where he pleased before and he definitely didn’t need it now. He pressed harder against the door in an effort to force it open.

Farkas stepped out the door in an effort to block Bran only to collide with a solid object. He stumbled briefly as he tried to catch himself.

“Excuse me. I didn’t see you there.” Farkas’s voice rumbled quietly, but his body was stiff.

Bran glanced around Farkas and froze. Before him stood a tall woman. Sunlight spilled through the open doorway and obscured the woman in shadows. Black daggers glinted against her hip. Her fur-lined boots were silent against the stone walkway. The woman wore a hood over her head, but it didn’t hide her blond braids nor her cool gray eyes. She glanced down at Bran without a hint of affection.

“There you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could've sworn that I accidentally deleted a line somewhere. Oh well. I've already written a partial rough draft for the next chapter and it is already getting past 4000 words, so it looks like it is going to be another long chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I thought that I would be able to finish Chapter 21 in less than a week and have it ready by the next weekend.
> 
> ~10,000 words and two weeks later~
> 
> Never mind! I have decided to split Chapter 21 into three pieces and post each piece as I finish editing/writing them

Golden rays of sunshine spilled through the doorway and bathed Bran in their warm light. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the brightness. The temperature was rather fair despite it still being early morning, and Bran would have considered it excellent sunbathing weather. Of course, none of that mattered with the dark figure standing before him.

“I was wondering where you had gone off to,” Lyz said, eyes still locked on Bran. Her expression was flat, and she eyed him like a bug.

Bran sucked in a breath. _She looks pissed_.

Farkas stiffened at Lyz’s words. He glanced down at Bran, and his hand tightened its grip on the door. He smiled at Lyz stiffly. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need you to step out of the way. I’m currently having issues with my war hound here and I don’t want you to get mixed up in this.”

Lyz’s eyes drifted up towards Farkas, her gaze cooling further. “Your war hound? Strange. I could have sworn that this one was mine. Looks just like him. Even shows his trademark level of loyalty and obedience.”

Bran clenched his jaw. Yep. She was pissed.

Farkas stood up straighter and took a step towards Lyz. “I believe you are mistaken, ma’am. This is _my_ dog. Not --”

Lyz suddenly lurched forward and snatched Bran’s scruff in her grip. She yanked him forward, dragging him out of Jorrvaskr and firmly placing him behind her back. Bran gasped at the aggressive move, then tried to squeeze his way back in-between her and the surprised werewolf. Farkas took a step forward, but Lyz moved to block his path and plant herself firmly between the two werewolves.

“ _Ma’am_ ,” Farkas said the word with a hint of aggression. “I don’t believe you know what you are doing -- who you are trying to take with you. I would highly recommend that you return him to me. Right. Now.”

“Thank you for watching my dog for me,” Lyz deadpanned. “I don’t have much, but this is the least that I could offer.” She reached into her pocket and held her closed hand out to Farkas. He stared at her outstretched hand dubiously before holding out his hand to take the unseen object. A solid piece of metal plopped into Farkas’s hand.

Five septims.

Farkas glowered at her, his eyes beginning to turn yellow. “I was trying to be polite, but I am losing my patience. Return him. Now.”

Lyz tilted her head and hummed as if she were considering his words. “No.”

Bran lurched backwards as Farkas lunged at Lyz with an open hand. Lyz slithered out of the way of Farkas’s attempted grab and took several steps back to move out of his reach. Lyz hissed in surprise and, with a flick of her wrist, sent a small dagger flying in Farkas’s direction. The werewolf growled when the dagger nicked his cheek and embedded itself into the wall behind him. He reached for the battleaxe strapped to his back and advanced towards Lyz.

Bran couldn’t hold in his gasp as the swinging battleaxe missed Lyz’s head by mere inches and shattered the crate behind her. Lyz hissed something under her breath and two more daggers materialized in her hands.

Screams were heard as the two warriors fought in the street. Women grabbed their children and ushered them back inside while men ran off shouting for the guards. Their panic went unheeded by the two warriors as they continued their battle.

Farkas distracted Lyz with a fake swing and landed a punch against her cheek. The rough edge of his gauntlets scratched her jaw and sent the woman stumbling backwards into a cluster of barrels. Lyz rolled out of the way as Farkas’s axe came down and cleaved the remains of the barrels.

Bran ducked around the fleeing people and tried to make his way to Lyz. Normally, he wouldn’t have worried enough about her safety to intervene. Lyz had fought bandits, dragons, and other scary beasts without needing much help before. However, Farkas was an unknown werewolf. A hot-headed, unknown werewolf at that. And Bran couldn’t erase the image of Lyz pinned underneath a rabid werewolf as it tried to crush her skull from his mind. If Farkas lost his cool and decided to use his lycanthropy against Lyz, not only would she not see it coming, Farkas might very well kill her.

Bran heard a commotion behind him and looked back to see that Vilkas and Skjor had finally made their way to the front steps of Jorrvaskr. They both glanced at Farkas and Lyz fighting in the street.

“Not again,” Vilkas sighed. “I’ll go fetch Kodlak.”

It was at that moment that the pair noticed Bran standing amongst the chaos.

“Hey,” Skjor shouted as he stomped towards Bran. “Where do you think you are going? You aren’t getting away!”

Bran skittered out of the way as Skjor attempted to tackle him. Skjor must have still been suffering from the aftermath of Bran severing the pack bond because he immediately lost his balance and crashed to the ground.

Bran bared his teeth at the werewolf haughtily. _Not so easy to keep your balance against someone on four legs!_

Skjor couldn’t hear what Bran was thinking now that the pack bond was gone, but that didn’t prevent his scowl as he picked himself off the ground and rushed towards Bran a second time.

The four continued their battle in the street. While Skjor and Bran quickly settled into a steady pace, Farkas and Lyz’s fight became increasingly wild and chaotic. Every time Lyz would try to use a spell, Farkas would dart in to interrupt her. At one point, Lyz tried to aim a fire spell for Farkas’s face, but the warrior simply picked her off the ground with his werewolf strength and slammed her into the side of one of the houses. Lyz let out a crackling gasp and slapped her flame-coated hand against the werewolf’s exposed bicep. Farkas jumped back with a hiss, a hand-shaped burn coating his arm.

Bran let out a panicked whine when Lyz fell to her knees. He would have made his way over to her, except every time he looked away from Skjor, the werewolf would try to catch him by surprise.

Bran grit his teeth as anger pooled inside his body. With or without the Beast, Bran’s fury was not something to be reckoned with. He needed to end this.

Bran kept his amber eyes locked on Skjor, weaving left and right to prevent the werewolf from catching up with him. His ears swiveled as he tried to keep track of where Farkas and Lyz were. When he felt he was close enough, he pivoted as if he were getting ready to turn around and make a run for it.

“No, you don’t!” Skjor lunged forward, aiming to grab Bran’s tail before the wolf could escape. Unfortunately, Skjor had become so distracted by Bran’s movements that he didn’t notice that he had been lured right into Farkas’s path.

The two warriors collided with each other, neither seeing the other until it was too late. Farkas fell backwards as Skjor rammed into his legs and caused him to trip. The weight of Farkas and his heavy armor crashed down on top of Skjor and pinned him to the ground. Skjor wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs.

Bran rushed to Lyz’s side while the pair was distracted. He pushed against Lyz’s side with his paws. _Go! We need to go now!_

But Lyz completely ignored him. Blood trickled down the side of her face and both of her arms, and she was panting heavily. Her body shook with exertion. Yet, her eyes burned with rage.

Farkas was the first to get back to his feet. He snarled at Bran and Lyz as he marched towards them, his eyes now a brilliant yellow. “You will not take him,” he roared. “He belongs to the Companions now.”

“Enough,” Lyz snarled. She stepped towards the two Companions, ignoring Bran’s yip of protest. Magic began to swirl around her hands as her eyes turned a deep purplish hue. Farkas raised his axe as Lyz’s fingers began to twitch in odd and complicated patterns as she prepared the spell. However, her spell was interrupted when a sword dug into her back.

“You have committed crimes against Whiterun and her people. End your spell immediately.”

Lyz narrowed her eyes at Farkas, her fingers clenching. The sword dug into her spine harder. She lowered her hands, letting the spell dissipate.

Another pair of guards charged in and snatched both of Farkas’s arms in a tight grip.

“Both of you are under arrest for disorderly conduct,” one of the guards barked. “Drop your weapons and submit yourselves to our custody.”

Farkas clenched his hand around his battleaxe. His yellow eyes moved from Lyz to Bran as if he were trying to decide who he would like to kill first. Then he dropped his weapon. He lowered his head and flashed his fangs at Bran as if to say, “this isn’t over.”

Bran’s gaze was equally as cold as he flashed his fangs in return.

Skjor got to his feet and looked around, realizing that the guards had overlooked him. He turned to Bran and reached towards him, but he glanced in the guards’ direction and stepped back. If Farkas’s glare had been cold, the look Skjor gave Bran could have frozen the sun.

The lead guard looked at the two prisoners. “You two will be coming with us. You will be judged in Dragonsreach, then serve your sentences in the prison. Any goods in your possession that we believe are stolen will also be confiscated.”

“Now. Now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Bran looked away from Skjor in surprise at the sound of the new voice.

Kodlak hobbled out of Jorrvaskr. He wore a bright smile on his face and moved like the simple elderly man he appeared to be. If Bran hadn’t seen the lupine ease with which the man had walked earlier, he might have been fooled. To anyone who didn’t know any better, Kodlak looked just like a fun old man who told stories from his youth and gave free treats to children.

Bran stepped closer to Lyz as Kodlak walked up to Farkas and gave the guards a smile.

“I see that you have one of my young warriors in your custody. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

The lead guard crossed her arms and scoffed. “Your warrior has broken the law of Whiterun by dueling with her,” the guard pointed an accusing finger at Lyz, “within the city. Under Whiterun law, all duels must be limited to fistfighting. Any use of weapons or magic is strictly forbidden.”

Kodlak put a hand to his chest. “I must apologize for Farkas’s behavior. He isn’t our most intelligent member, and he is still learning how to think before resorting to violence. If you hand him over to me, I can make sure that he is adequately punished. We’ve been needing someone to clean out the waste buckets in everyone’s rooms.”

The guard narrowed her eyes. “Very well. We will release him into your custody. However, we still expect him to pay his fine.” The guard looked to Lyz. “You, on the other hand, will be coming with us.”

The guards released Farkas’s arms. The werewolf moved to stand beside Kodlak, sneering at Lyz before dipping his head in response to Kodlak’s stare.

The guards started leading Lyz away but looked down in surprise when Bran began to follow them. “And what is this?”

Kodlak stepped forward. “That would be ---”

“My dog,” Lyz butt in. “That is my dog.”

Kodlak blinked at her in surprise. “But --”

“Pup, heel.”

Bran padded up to Lyz’s side and wagged his tail obediently.

Lyz rolled her eyes at him. “Now, you choose to be obedient?” She muttered under her breath.

The female guard blinked at Bran and shrugged. “Very well. He comes too. Maybe we can use him as collateral when you fail to pay your fine.”

Bran cocked his head. _When? Not if? These guards are rude._

Bran followed Lyz as the guards led her away. He made sure to keep close to her side this time. The faint ragged sound of her breath worried him. She hadn’t yet had a chance to heal herself and neither he nor her were carrying health potions. Not that they would have made a difference. Bran doubted that the guards would let her use them.

He pressed his head against her leg when she wheezed hoarsely as the guards dragged her onward. Hopefully, she made it all the way to wherever the guards were taking her. Maybe she wouldn’t throttle him when she felt better.

The pair and the procession of guards left Jorrvaskr behind. He didn’t look back, though he could feel the werewolves watching him.

* * *

The guards tossed Lyz onto the floor roughly. Her hands were secured behind her back with a thick rope, so she wasn’t able to catch herself as she landed face-first on the red carpet. She groaned as the carpet rubbed against the bruise forming on her cheek.

Bran curled against her side and tried to use his weight to support her as she leaned back into a kneeling position.

The female guard stopped before a well-dressed man and placed a fist over her chest in a salute.

“I have brought this woman to be judged by the jarl,” the guard spoke. “She was found dueling one of the Companions within city limits. She used weapons and magic during the fight, going against the code set out by Jarl Balgruuf the Greater and terrifying the citizens as a result.”

The man, who Bran guessed was the jarl’s steward, made a disgusted grimace at the guard’s aggressive tone but obediently marched off to fetch the jarl.

The guards had dragged Lyz through the center of Whiterun. Near the center of the city was a long staircase leading up to a gigantic castle at the top of the hill. Like the castle in Windhelm, this one was heavily guarded. But what stood out was the way the second story opened into an excessively large balcony.

_I wonder why they call this place Dragonsreach_ , Bran had thought.

Bran ground his claws into the wooden floorboards. It frustrated him that the Companions had gotten off so easily while Lyz was forced to suffer the consequences of what happened this morning. It frustrated Bran even more that he was unable to do anything to stop it. As Kodlak had demonstrated, having the right connections meant everything in Skyrim. Without any kind of support, Lyz would be treated just like any other downtrodden criminal. A growl slipped through Bran’s muzzle.

“Shh,” Lyz whispered softly. Her voice would have calmed Bran if it hadn’t ended with Lyz bending over to cough heavily.

_She shouldn’t be coughing this much_ , Bran thought worriedly. _Did she puncture a lung?_

Her breathing wasn’t getting any worse, however. So, it could just be bruised ribs or soreness. Still, Bran couldn’t help but lean harder against Lyz’s side. He tried to ignore the pained grunt she emitted when he accidentally brushed against one of her bruises.

Bran looked up when he heard the sound of footsteps. First came the steward who descended down the staircase behind the throne room.

“All stand for Jarl Balgruuf the Greater!”

The guards straightened their posture. The guard holding Lyz’s shoulder looked down at the woman’s wheezing form and awkwardly looked away. Lyz probably wouldn’t be able to stand anyway.

The steward took his spot beside the jarl’s throne and folded his arms behind his back. In his wake, came the man known as Jarl Balgruuf.

Balgruuf looked as if he was born for the role of jarl. He had long golden hair pulled behind his back and a well-groomed beard. His clothing was stitched from the finest of silks and was dyed in rich greens and golds. Despite being a bit on the older side, his eyes were sharp as they locked onto Lyz and Bran. Beside the jarl was another man dressed in a dark blue robe that obscured most of his face.

Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne with a sigh. “I was in the middle of an important meeting, so let’s make this quick. State your name and where you are from.”

“Lyza of Riften,” Lyz groaned roughly.

Balgruuf tilted his head and motioned to the robed man. The robed man lifted his hand and Bran felt the faint touch of a healing spell as it fell over Lyz. Bran shivered at the warm touch of magic against his skin. This must be the Court Wizard.

Lyz cleared her throat and smiled at the Court Wizard. “Thank you.”

“From Riften? That explains a lot,” the steward sniffed as the Court Wizard finished his spell.

“Proventus,” the jarl scolded gruffly.

Proventus bowed his head. “My apologies, Jarl Balgruuf.” To Lyz, he said, “just Lyza? What is your last name?”

“Just Lyza.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No family name?”

“No.”

The steward tutted at Lyz and scribbled onto a scroll.

Bran shot a warning glance at Lyz. This wasn’t a good time to upset the jarl and his steward. Not when they were deciding whether to throw her in prison.

“Typical of a Riften rat.” The steward waved his hand at Lyz dismissively. “Do you admit to using magic to fight within city limits?”

“Yes.”

“At least you have a bit of honesty in you. That settles it then.” The steward looked at the jarl expectantly.

Balgruuf rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You have been found guilty of violating Whiterun’s dueling laws. You will pay your fine and spend one week in prison. Any stolen goods will be removed from your possession.”

Bran bristled. They hadn’t even given her a chance to defend herself. What kind of law and order existed in Whiterun?!

The guards reached down to grab Lyz’s arms. Bran let out a growl that had one of the guards reaching towards his waist for his sword.

“Wait. I know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect that I will have the second part of Chapter 21 ready next weekend, so see you then!


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